Samaritan
by Ivytree
Summary: Sequel to Grandpa. Things have changed in Sunnydale-but Spike has one final choice to make. NEW - CHAPTER 25 ADDED - COMPLETE!
1. Not So Far to Seek

Title: SAMARITAN  
Author: Ivytree  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc. Except Wally and Mrs. C.  
Feedback: Please!  
Summary: Sequel to Grandpa; A soul makes everyday demands, and others a little more esoteric  
Setting: The near future; say, September  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
  
SAMARITAN Pt. 1 Not So Far to Seek  
  
  
"Bloody hell!" Spike stood in the entryway of Clem's place, a partitioned dead end off the main sewer tunnels. "Quite an accumulation, mate."  
  
"I know," his floppy-eared friend replied, sitting on the floor in the midst of stacks of Soap Opera Weekly back copies he'd been sorting. "You don't realize 'til you move out, you know? I don't even know where I got half this stuff. And heck, there's even more stored at Mom's."  
  
Spike eyed the mountain of brown cardboard boxes with resignation. Clem had found a snazzy new basement apartment in Hob Hill, the demon side of town, not far from the Red Sunset Bar where the gang liked to hang out (it was nicer than Willy's), and Spike was helping him move. It was one of the disadvantages of super-strength - everyone expected you to carry heavy objects and open jars and the like, once you had a soul, anyway. Since he hadn't told anyone about his little alteration it was beyond him how his pals found out so quickly, but Clem's was the third move he'd helped with in a month. Of course, some of the guys could tell by just looking at him, but not all of them. However it happened, word seemed to have gone out over the grapevine that he was now Mr. Helpful Guy; sort of embarrassing for a former Big Bad. The problem was he didn't seem to be able to say no to anybody. What with family trips to LA and vigorous clean-ups of vampire activity around his home graveyard, he was keeping busy lately.   
  
"Well, might as well get cracking," he said, picking up a box and slinging it to his shoulder like the Covent Garden barrow boys of his youth. All he needed was an apron and a peaked cap.  
  
"The truck's right outside; I think we can get it all in the back and just make one trip." Clem's soft red eyes were anxious; he hated to take advantage.   
  
Spike sighed. That would mean about ten trips up a rickety ladder toting boxes that were packed with lead bars. But he wasn't complaining; he said he'd help, and he was helping. That was another disadvantage of having a soul - it pretty much halved your opportunities for caustic remarks.  
  
"Right, then," he said in a cheerful tone, heading for the ladder.  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
"Which way?" Spike asked, balancing a particularly heavy box on his shoulder.   
  
"Let me see," Clem's mom said in her heavily accented English, peering at the scribbled label taped to the box. "I think says 'bedroom;' can you read writing?"  
  
"Not from here, love," Spike said patiently. Getting Clem's stuff out of the truck and into his new place hadn't been nearly as arduous as getting it out of the old place. For one thing, the new place had stairs. But on the other hand Mrs. Caprescu was directing the disposal of her son's possessions, and she tended to think things over while he was standing there box in hand.  
  
"Says bedroom," she decided finally.   
  
"Right you are," he said, making for the bedroom. Clem actually had two small rooms, complete with plumbing, a little galley-style kitchen - AND cable television. He was a happy demon. All he needed was a few odds and ends, and he'd be right snug here.   
  
"When you're done, come have nice cup blood in kitchen," she called after him. "I make it just the way you like."  
  
"Really, thanks a lot, man," Clem said after he'd stowed the last box. "Sophie's coming over to help us unpack, and then I'll be all moved in! I can't believe it!"  
  
"Nice place, alright," Spike said agreeably, accepting a restorative mug of pig's blood from Mrs. Caprescu - with burba, too.   
  
"Can you stay and help us decorate?"  
  
"Oh, no, you're on your own there, mate. I'm not getting between your mum and your girlfriend; I might be souled-up but I've still got some sense of self-preservation. And I'd advise you to run for your life, as well, if you know what's good for you."   
  
"Spike! Don't be wise guy!" Mrs. C said, smacking him on the arm. "I like Sophie very much."  
  
"Aw, they get along great, honest," Clem said bashfully. He still couldn't get used to even having a girlfriend, and one that Mom approved of, besides.  
  
"You should get apartment, too, Spike," Mrs. C said, her big hoop earrings quivering with emphasis. "In Romania all vamps live in houses, like people. Nice boy like you shouldn't live in cemetery."  
  
He opened his mouth to deny being a nice boy, but what was the point?  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
"Hey, man, how you doin'?"   
  
"Wally! Fancy seeing you here, mate! Come on in," Spike said, opening his crypt door wide. He'd successfully escaped the female-dominated furniture arrangement portion of Clem's move, and was just settling in to watch some violence on the telly.  
  
"I was just passing this way, thought I'd stop by," the mer-man answered.  
  
"Want a beer or something?"  
  
"Yeah, sure, whatever you've got."   
  
Spike tossed him a chilled bottle and turned the sound down on Die Hard III, saying, "Well, pull up a chair, mate. What brings you to our little metropolis? Or, in this case, necropolis?"  
  
Wally looked a little ill at ease. "I sorta need a favor, as a matter of fact. I'm not exactly sure how big a favor it is."  
  
"Anything I can do, mate." There, he'd done it again! Bugger! Without even a pause to reflect, so to speak. "You got ghost problems again?"  
  
"No, no; it's nothing like that. It's not really ME that has the problem. Gosh, this is embarrassing." He took a swig of his beer, his blue face troubled. "See, I've got this brother-in-law."  
  
"Oh! So your sis has you running errands, that it?"  
  
"Exactly!" Wally said, looking relieved.   
  
If he only knew; if there was one thing Spike understood, it was woman problems. Sister, mother, girlfriend - girlfriend's sister - it was all the same, really. They'd just look at you expectantly and eventually there'd be trouble. Sometimes it was trouble you could get out of - and sometimes it was fairly permanent.   
  
"Vinnie - he's - well, not to put too fine a point on it, he's kinda shady," Wally continued. "He's always been pretty wild; comes from a rough background. We don't socialize too much. But, well, Dot's my sister and she's worried about him."  
  
"So what happened?"  
  
"Well, he always traveled a lot on business. But suddenly a few months ago, he stopped calling home. That was kind of hard on Dot. To make a long story short, we found out he's here."  
  
"Here in Sunnyhell? I mean, Sunnydale?"  
  
"Right. But I'm not sure where or anything. It's your town - could you help me find him?"  
  
"Sure, mate." Somehow, those words kept rolling off his tongue. Of course he knew that even when he did get a chance to think it over he'd end up helping Wally anyway. "Where d'you suggest we look?"  
  
"Um, know any disreputable bars?"  
  
Spike grinned. This might not be so bad. "Now that you mention it -"   
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
The Power glowed gold. Everywhere she moved she could sense it. It seeped into her skin, irritating her, making her twist and jerk. It mocked her impotence. Sometimes she woke writhing and gnashing her teeth in frustration - and then someone would die.   
  
But she would win out in the end. The Power would be hers, torn from that little fool who had never understood how to use it. She knew just how to draw it to her. And soon, her plan would be set in motion...  
  
  
TBC  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -   
  
"And I am sometimes proud and sometimes meek,  
And sometimes I remember days of old  
When fellowship seem'd not so far to seek,  
And all the world and I seem'd much less cold,  
And at the rainbow's foot lay surely gold,  
And hope felt strong, and life itself not weak."  
  
Christina Rossetti 


	2. The Strength of All

Title: SAMARITAN  
Author: Ivytree  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc. Except Wally and Mrs. C.  
Feedback: Please!  
Summary: Sequel to Grandpa; A soul makes everyday demands, and others a little more esoteric  
Setting: The near future; say, September  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
  
SAMARITAN Pt. 2 The Strength of All  
  
  
"Bloody hell!" Spike said disgustedly. "Well, that's just bleeding perfect, isn't it? THIS is your brother-in-law?"  
  
"'Fraid so," his blue-skinned friend replied; "Why? You know him?"  
  
They'd tracked Wally's errant relative fairly easily - he'd left quite a trail - and after checking his usual haunts found him in the alley outside Willy's lying face down - or snout down, Spike supposed - in a refuse heap. He eyed the bulky, gray-skinned figure with loathing.  
  
"Oh, yeah, mate, I know 'im all right."  
  
"Can we take him back to your place?" Wally sounded anxious. "Tell you the truth, I didn't think he'd be this bad off."  
  
Spike sighed. Vinnie Teeth was clearly completely pissed and, though his flat black eyes were open, out cold; he looked like he weighed a ton, too. His dorsal fin shuddered as he snored loudly into the garbage.  
  
"Guess we might as well, if we can even get him up," Spike said pessimistically. He'd seen a lot of drunks in his time, and this didn't look promising. He took hold of the up-jutting fin and shook it with some force. "Oi! Vinnie! Wakey, wakey!"  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
"I think the car's this way," Wally said, staggering under the burden of Vinnie's arm slung inertly around his neck. Just as Spike predicted, the loan shark was a dead weight, unable to walk on his own and adding his mite to their progress every now and then by half-waking, flailing around, howling incoherently, and then collapsing again. Their passage through the streets of the less attractive side of Sunnydale was laborious and exasperating.  
  
They were staggering diagonally across the street running in back of the Fish Tank when Spike saw probably the last person on earth he wanted to meet up with at the moment. Right, make that the last three people. For some incomprehensible reason, probably having to do with fate and retribution, Buffy, Dawn, and Anya were walking down the street together, high heels clicking, all elegant and ladylike. At one o'clock in the morning. In this part of town. He was searching frantically for an alley to duck into when she spotted him. Might as well make the best of it, then.  
  
"'Evening, Slayer," he greeted her innocently. "Ladies. Looking lovely tonight."  
  
"Spike!" Balls. She sounded het-up already. "Isn't that - ? What did you do to him?"  
  
"Who?" Spike said. Yeah, that should work. He looked around and seemed to discover Vinnie's arm draped around his neck for the first time. "Oh, him. Picked 'im up out of an alley."  
  
She folded her arms across her chest, her lips set in a thin line, her hazel eyes glowing with righteous wrath. Even when extremely (though unjustly) vexed, he thought, she was so beautiful, in a soft, invitingly low-cut sort of top and leather mini-skirt. Her silky hair shone under the streetlight. He wondered if she was dressed up for anyone in particular.  
  
"I thought you'd changed, you know," she said tightly. "I thought you went away to get your head straight. But everything's just the same, isn't it? How much are you in for this time?"  
  
"Buffy!" Dawn whispered, mortified; what was WRONG with her? "What are you doing?"  
  
Spike seized on this timely distraction. "Hey, isn't it a school night, Niblet?" he said piously. Two could play at that game. "What are you doing up at this hour?"  
  
"As a matter of fact, it's Friday," Anya responded in a reasonable tone. "But you're quite correct, we should be home by now. We went to the Bronze and had to help Buffy hunt some vampires. Some evil vampires, that is," she added politely. "They got away."  
  
Spike actually heard Buffy grind her teeth at that last little tidbit. So that's why she was so cranky - slayage interruptus.  
  
"Huh. Well, hope you catch 'em. Nice to see you," he said hastily, suddenly distracted by the imminent prospect of Vinnie tossing his cookies, or whatever it was he ate. "'Night, all."  
  
He maneuvered Wally and their retching encumbrance on up the street as quickly as possible, leaving the three girls staring after them in amazement and not a little pique. They found a handy trashcan in an alley just in time.  
  
"Boy, what a rude girl!" Wally exclaimed, standing well back. "Was that the Slayer?"  
  
"She's a little high-strung," Spike said apologetically.  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
At least, Spike reflected, the night couldn't get any worse. After a grueling evening spent thanklessly toting heavy boxes (it hadn't actually been thanklessly, but never mind), he'd barely arrived home to his nice, comfy crypt, ready for some entertainment and a nice cuppa, when he was burdened with the domestic troubles of a new friend and an old enemy. Then Buffy had seen him in mid-rescue and gotten the totally wrong idea about it. Then they had finally reached Wally's car only to discover that the keys had been dropped somewhere along the way. He was now retracing their steps since finding Vinnie, using his vamp vision for a quick search.  
  
The back streets were empty but for a few reeling drunks making their way homewards. He didn't expect to find many people up and about, so when he heard surreptitious voices and a groan, he pricked up his ears. The sounds were coming from an ill-lit, trash-strewn alley.  
  
He saw two shadowy figures bending over something that looked like a body. Maybe these were the vampires Buffy had been hunting; he flattened himself against the wall for a moment and listened.  
  
"Look, man, I found him, I get first bite."  
  
"No way! I spotted him first!"  
  
"Way! You lost track of him when the Slayer noticed us."  
  
"Did not! I was being, you know, stealthy."  
  
"Oh, yeah, right; it just LOOKED like running real fast - "  
  
"Hey, you ran just as fast as I did! Faster!"  
  
Spike rolled his eyes. What a pair of gits. Really, the quality of vampire turning up 'round the Hellmouth nowadays was disgraceful. Stretching his shoulders briefly to get the kinks out, he drew a sturdy stake from his pocket, vamped out, and bounded down the alley with a roar.  
  
The two hapless vampires shrieked in sheer surprise - followed by terror when they saw who was after them.  
  
"Oh, crap, it's Spike!"  
  
"Hey, man, we didn't do anything to the guy, honest!"  
  
"You know the rules, pillocks; I catch you in the act, I dust you," he growled, with contempt. "Don't make it worse by begging."  
  
They didn't have much time to worry about its getting worse, though; he picked up the first one and tossed him headlong into the other's midriff, knocking them both down, and in a short flurry of kicks and blows stunned both enough to stake them easily.  
  
Spike swaggered triumphantly over the pile of dust briefly - doing for your opponents was always satisfying, even if they were wankers - and tucked his stake away. He peered down at the victim. It was a hefty bloke in a corduroy jacket smelling strongly of booze, face down in the alleyway. He sighed. This seemed to be his night for saving imbeciles from the drunk tank.  
  
"Oi!" he said. "Mate!"  
  
There was an inarticulate mutter. Well, that was something; maybe he wouldn't end up carrying the big lummox. He bent down to shake the blighter's shoulder.  
  
"Come on!" he said in a compelling voice. "Up you get. Time to go home, mate."  
  
The intended victim suddenly thrashed, and rolled over on his back.  
  
"Get off me, Evil Dead!" he bellowed in a slurred voice. Yes, indeed, it was Alexander Lavelle Harris, live and in person.  
  
Well, Spike thought, that would teach him to imagine things couldn't get worse.  
  
  
TBC  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -   
  
"Heav'n forming each on other to depend,  
A master, or a servant, or a friend,  
Bids each on other for assistance call,  
'Till one man's weakness grows the strength of all.  
Wants, frailties, passions, closer still ally  
The common int'rest, or endear the tie.  
To these we owe true friendship, love sincere,  
Each home-felt joy that life inherits here..."  
  
Alexander Pope 


	3. Certain Signs

Title: SAMARITAN  
Author: Ivytree  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc. Except Wally and Mrs. C.  
Feedback: Please!  
Summary: Sequel to Grandpa; A soul makes everyday demands, and others a little more esoteric  
Setting: The near future; say, September  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
  
SAMARITAN Pt. 3 Certain Signs  
  
  
Dawn strode down the barely lit street, heels clacking like a particularly cross woodpecker.   
  
"I am so never speaking to you again," she said furiously.  
  
"Look, Dawnie, maybe I was a little harsh, but you don't know everything -" Humiliatingly, Buffy had to scurry to keep up with her long-legged younger sister.  
  
Dawn stopped short to glare at her, rubbing a tear from her cheek.   
  
"Know what? That Spike finally came home and he's helping people and being all nice and everything and you just decide to treat him like dirt again? What's there to understand, Buffy?"  
  
"He hasn't really changed at all!" Buffy said, hearing her own voice grow shrill. Dawn had some nerve defending Spike to her; time and again she'd bent over backwards to give him a break. "What do you think he was doing here at this hour with those crooks? He's right back into the same stuff as before; he'll be harboring demon eggs - evil demon eggs," she added, with a glance at Anya, "before you know it."  
  
"He's a vampire, Buffy; of course he hangs out at night. And how do you know they were crooks? And, anyway, I don't believe that stuff about eggs - that's just what Riley told you."  
  
"Riley wouldn't lie to me - "  
  
"Oh, right; he told you ALL about his vampire prostitutes. I'm not an idiot, Buffy - I know what happened between you two."  
  
"Actually, I think that was Wally, not a crook," Anya interrupted calmly as Buffy opened her mouth for an indignant reply. "I don't like to interfere in a family brawl, but you seem to be veering off track, anyway, and one might as well be accurate."  
  
The sisters gaped at her.   
  
"What?!" Dawn yelped.  
  
"You know, the blue-skinned man. Or I suppose he's not exactly a man; the one who helped Spike save Angel," Anya explained helpfully. "Spike said his name was Wally. I recognized him from the little ship. Boat."   
  
Buffy suddenly felt as though the pavement was crumbling beneath her feet. Damn, damn, damn. Of course. She'd been so angry seeing Spike with that loan shark she'd barely even glanced at the third person.   
  
Wally the mer-man. Spike had looked so happy explaining the little souvenir boat his friends had sent him, complete with models of Gunn, Fred, Captain Jack, Wally, Spike and Angel, and telling the three girls the whole adventure. She pressed her fingers to her trembling lips. She'd been so sure he would disappoint her again, that he hadn't changed, that it couldn't be true. (Those words kept echoing in her head since seeing him that day. 'It couldn't be true.')  
  
"Oh, my God," she whispered. "Why didn't he say something? They just ran off so I thought -"  
  
"It looked to me like they were helping that shark-y person," Anya said. "He didn't look well."  
  
"Why do you have to be so mean, Buffy?" Dawn said sadly. "Why did you just assume he did something bad?"  
  
Buffy stared unseeingly up the street in the direction Spike and his companions had gone. "He just drives me crazy; I can't help it. I don't know why."  
  
For a brief, significant moment, the other two girls' eyes met. They both had a pretty good idea why he drove her so crazy, as a matter of fact, but with really heroic self-control neither one said anything. However annoying she was being, it was obvious Buffy wasn't ready to hear it. Dawn put a comforting arm around her.   
  
"Well, I guess you can apologize next time you see him," she said, trying to be cheerful. "Let's go home to bed; Mom said things always look better in the morning."  
  
"And that's really true, you know," Anya said kindly. "Your mother was very smart."  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
Spike steeled his nerves. Just a few deep breaths and he'd be fine. Sure this was scary, but there was nothing for it. He was trapped; there was no other way out that he could see. And after all, he'd faced worse things, and not too long ago, either; how bad could it be?  
  
He waited, trying to keep his gut from clenching. One ring; two rings. Bollocks, they should be home by now. Three rings - oh.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Hello, Slayer?"  
  
"Spike?" Was she all right? She sounded funny. "Are you calling me on the phone?"  
  
Why did she always ask that? They were talking, weren't they? What else could he be doing?  
  
"Right. See, here's the thing, Slayer; I've got a social dilemma on my hands."  
  
"What are you talking about?" THAT sounded more like his Slayer. Pissed off. "At this hour? Quiet, Dawn. And go to bed."  
  
"See, well, I've sort of got Xander and I don't know what to do with him," he explained. "Is Anya there?"  
  
"What do you mean, you've got um, him?" From her reluctance to say the name, he deduced she didn't want someone there to know what was going on. Maybe more than one someone.  
  
"Well, to put it bluntly, he passed out in the street, pissed as a newt, and I just happened to fall over 'im, like." This wasn't strictly true, but why worry her unduly? Bad enough the way it was.  
  
"Oh, my God, is he okay?"  
  
"Will be after he sleeps it off; he'll have a bastard of a hangover, I should imagine," he said as one with deep and broad knowledge of similar situations. "No damage I can see. But he's out cold, Slayer; where should I put 'im? Where's he live now? I'm out of the loop. His parents' house? The apartment? Anya's not there, is she? Because she probably doesn't want to see this. The Niblet, either."  
  
"Tell me where you are; I'll be right over." Buffy said decisively. He heard paper rustle as she scribbled the address he gave her - 99 Deuce Lane.   
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
Spike sat on the front steps of the neatly kept brownstone, waiting and smoking thoughtfully. He was just as glad to grab a few minutes downtime; so far it had been a busy night. He saw Joyce's SUV pull up behind Wally's Cruiser - funny how he always thought of it as her mum's wheels, not Buffy's - and rose, dropping his cigarette and grinding it out with his boot.   
  
"Oi, Slayer!" he said, as she slammed the door and rushed towards him, her face worried. "No need for four alarms; he's not going anywhere."   
  
"Are you sure he's okay?"  
  
"He'll have a hell of a headache, eventually."  
  
Suddenly she seemed self-conscious.  
  
"Spike," she said uncertainly, not quite meeting his eyes, "I'm really sorry for what I said before. I was out of line."   
  
He took her by the arm and turned her around, making a show of peering closely at her back.  
  
"What?" she asked, puzzled.  
  
"Did Red fix you before she left?" he said, deadpan. "I thought you were the real Buffy for a minute there."  
  
"What? But I am - oh, ha, ha, very funny," she said crossly. "Where are we, anyway? I've never been to this part of town before."  
  
"No reason you should; it's Demon Town," he said, taking her elbow in a gentlemanly manner and helping her up the steps - which was a good thing, because she was still tottering on the four-inch heels she wore to the Bronze. "But I know one person who can cope with any eventuality, and this is where she lives. Besides, she's got a phone."   
  
As they approached the natty green-painted front door it opened, and a middle-aged (as far as one could tell), entirely benevolent-looking lady demon wearing a twinset stood in the entrance.  
  
"Spike, how many times I tell you to wipe feet?" Mrs. Caprescu said, her earrings bobbing. "You get vamp dust on my carpet. Hello, young lady."  
  
"Well, I was kind of busy when I came in, wasn't I, Mrs. C?" he protested. "This is Xander's friend, Buffy -"  
  
"The Slayer, I know, I know," she said warmly, her ruby eyes welcoming, "Come in, Buffy. Nice to meet you. Your friend is inside."  
  
Buffy followed her in, throwing a desperate glance at Spike. As their hostess preceded them down a hallway, he bent to whisper hastily in her ear, "Mrs. Caprescu. Clem's mum." Enlightenment washed over her face, and Spike saw her shoulders relax a bit.   
  
Mrs. C took them into her neat kitchen. Xander was lying in an unattractive, hops-scented heap on the floor, dead to the world. Spike wondered idly just how long it would take to get that pissed on American beer. He didn't hold with it, himself; if you were going to get well and truly sozzled, might as well go for the good stuff. But to each his own. Then he glanced at Buffy's troubled face and suddenly regretted taking it so lightly. Damn. He was sympathizing again.  
  
"It's not good for young man to drink so much," Mrs. Caprescu said. "But he be okay in a few hours - except very sorry for himself. You want to take him home?"  
  
"I guess it'll have to be my house," Buffy said. "I hate to put you to all this trouble, Mrs. Caprescu, at this time of night."  
  
"What are friends for? Anyway, is not so late for us," she said. "Spike, you can carry? Want me to call Clem?"  
  
"No worries, love," Spike said easily. He felt inexpressibly relieved. Buffy was being a perfect lady and two of his favorite girls were getting on all right. Nothing like an emergency to bring out the best in women; he'd noticed that before through the decades. "Slayer and I can handle 'im."   
  
  
TBC  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -   
  
"He that is thy friend indeed  
He will help thee in thy need:  
If thou sorrow, he will weep;  
If thou wake, he cannot sleep;  
Thus of every grief, in heart,  
He with thee doth bear a part.  
These are certain signs to know  
Faithful friend from flatt'ring foe."  
  
Richard Barnfield 


	4. If You Knew

Title: SAMARITAN  
Author: Ivytree  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc. Except Wally and Mrs. C. And maybe...  
Feedback: Please!  
Summary: Sequel to Grandpa; A soul makes everyday demands, and others a little more esoteric  
Setting: The near future; say, September  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
SAMARITAN Pt. 4 If You Knew  
  
  
Spike looked through the windshield at the passing streets of Sunnydale, forcing himself not to gaze yearningly at Buffy. The only way he could manage it was not to look at her at all, but he was still intensely aware of every movement, every breath, her powerful little heartbeat, her glorious scent. He rolled the window down.  
  
He felt as over-sensitive and confused as a teenager, something he hadn't endured in well over a century - and he could do without it now, thanks very much, he thought. He wondered if he should say something to reassure her, and noticed his knee jigging nervously. Stop it, stop it, stop it, prat, he told himself sternly. Why inflict your bloody feelings on her? She's got enough trouble. After a few blocks went by in silence (but for an occasional snort from their cargo) he shot a furtive glance at her; she had a tight grip on the steering wheel and wore a thoughtful frown, obviously worrying about Xander.  
  
"Will you help me get him upstairs when we get home?" she asked suddenly.  
  
What did she think he was going to do, dump him on the porch? He'd come this far, hadn't he? He felt a twinge of resentment, but instantly followed by regret.   
  
"'Course," he said. "Don't want the Bit to see him, do we?"  
  
"She knows he's been upset, but this - " He could see her hesitate for a moment; then she clearly decided to take advantage of his expertise, so to speak. "Spike - do you think he's done this before? Got drunk enough to pass out in the street like that?"  
  
"Tell you the truth, lo-, I mean Slayer, no. Not in that part of town, anyway. Vamps would be snacking on him in a minute, wouldn't they? It's a natural hunting ground - full of cognitively impaired humans."  
  
She threw him a sharp glance; she hadn't thought of that, apparently. She didn't seem to have noticed his slip; must mind his words a bit better. "Come to think of it, why didn't they? Did you trip over him right after he passed out, or something?"  
  
He cursed himself for elaborating - well, lying - when he'd called her.   
  
"Matter of fact, Slayer, there was a pair of gits getting ready for a bite, but I, uh, got rid of 'em."  
  
She seemed taken aback at that, for some reason. "So you rescued Xander, who you don't even like, from a night in the gutter AND vampires?"  
  
"Well, they didn't exactly give me much trouble," he said dismissively, looking out the window again. "And I couldn't just leave 'im there, could I?"  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
Xander never opened his eyes or uttered a word as they manhandled him out of the car and into the house. Buffy watched Spike hoist him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes - a large sack of potatoes - and couldn't help being struck by how vigorous Spike was, compared to the lifeless bulk he carried; oh, Xander was breathing all right and everything, but he was literally - and willfully - dead to the world. Whereas since he came back from wherever he'd been, Spike seemed more alive than ever. How weird was that?  
  
"I told Dawn not to wait up for me," she said, unlocking the front door and going on into the hallway. He paused doubtfully on the threshold. Oh, darn, she thought, growing flustered; I forgot he might think - .   
  
"You can come in - there's no - I didn't - " she stammered ungracefully.  
  
"Oh," he said in an uncertain tone. "I would have thought you - "  
  
"No."  
  
"Oh. Right, then," he said, and entered the house unimpeded.  
  
Feeling oddly nervous, she turned away and started up the stairs. "It shouldn't be any problem getting him up to Willow's - to the big room."  
  
"You don't have to worry about, uh, him heaving his guts up, either," he said, following her. After a flash of annoyance, she decided he meant that to be reassuring. Well, in a disgusting sort of way it was.   
  
"He's already past that point, if you know what I mean," he continued, telling her rather more about Xander's unpleasant evening than she wanted to know, "Though from this perspective, you'd think he never ate a carrot in his life."   
  
"He's not exactly the picture of health right now," she agreed reluctantly. He grunted and readjusted Xander's weight.  
  
She pushed open the door to her mother's room. It looked forlorn; Tara's things were gone, the stained curtains and carpet had been removed, and those of Willow's belongings she hadn't taken to England were packed away. Spike dropped his burden on the bed, not ungently, and Buffy stood back and watched stock still with surprise as he slid Xander's shoes off, eased him out of his jacket and, after a moment's thought, unfastened his shirtsleeve buttons, without any prompting. He was simply trying to make him as comfortable as possible; this was unsettling in ways she preferred not to examine just now.  
  
"This been happening a lot, Slayer?" he said, his face concerned. "'Cause it's not good; Mrs. C was right."  
  
"I guess you'd know," she said rather bitterly. Then she thought, what's wrong with me? Why do I have to keep saying things like that?  
  
"That's right, I would, but then I don't really need a liver," he said equably. There was no answer to that.   
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
She led him downstairs and tried to think of something inoffensive to say to show her appreciation. (Neither "take me now" nor "who are you and what have you done with Spike?" seemed to strike the right note.) Not that he cared. He didn't seem to care at all what she said anymore, however unpleasant, but she was resolved to honestly try not to be such a - well, a bitch. Although so far it wasn't going that well.  
  
"Thanks for taking Xander to Mrs. Caprescu; she's just as nice as Clem," she said. "I'm really in her debt."   
  
"Yeah, they're good people. Or, well, you know what I mean," he said, with a smile.  
  
Buffy decided to go for it. Standing on the bottom step, leaning on the newel post, she said politely, "Spike, would you like to stay for some coffee or something?"  
  
In the old days, he would have greeted such a suggestion with sarcasm, blatant innuendo, and desperate eagerness. She could picture the way he would have leaned toward her, and the hungry look in his blue eyes, even as he answered her with a wisecrack. Now he just looked harassed, running a hand through his already disordered hair.   
  
"Oh - well, Slayer, I've got to be off, as a matter of fact. I left somebody waiting, and I've got some things to take care of." He still never looked at her, damn him. "Let me know if there's anything I can do, right?"  
  
And he was out the door, just like that; she heard him start to run as he reached the end of the walk, as if he couldn't wait to get wherever he was going.   
  
Well, maybe the somebody waiting was a nice friendly girl demon or vamp or something. She could hardly grudge him that, could she? It was really none of her business, was it? He had a right to go have some fun; he could party all night if he wanted to. It had nothing to do with her. And it had nothing to do with the sudden wave of depression that washed over her or the prick of tears in her eyes. She'd just had a long, frustrating day, that's all.   
  
Coffee wouldn't help, either, she decided. What she really needed was a good night's sleep. Mom was right; Anya was right - things would look better in the morning. She locked the door, and was just heading up to her bedroom when she heard a scream from upstairs.   
  
It was Dawn.  
  
TBC  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -   
  
"YOU think I cannot understand. Ah, but I do...  
I have been wrung with anger and compassion for you.  
I wonder if you'd loathe my pity, if you knew.  
  
But you shall know. I've carried in my heart too long  
This secret burden. Has not silence wrought your wrong-  
Brought you to dumb and wintry middle-age, with grey  
Unfruitful withering?-Ah, the pitiless things I say..."  
  
Siegfried Sassoon 


	5. Ask Not How

Title: SAMARITAN  
Author: Ivytree  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc. Except Wally and Mrs. C. And maybe...  
Feedback: Please!  
Summary: Sequel to Grandpa; A soul makes everyday demands, and others a little more esoteric  
Setting: The near future; say, September  
  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
  
SAMARITAN Pt. 5 Ask Not How  
  
  
"Bloody hell," Spike said disgustedly. "Can he talk yet, love?"  
  
Vinnie Teeth floundered awkwardly in Mrs. Caprescu's bathtub, uttering incoherent protests. They had finally roused him by the stern expedient of adding lemon juice to the water he floated in and, when that didn't work fast enough, tabasco sauce. Spike was well enough acquainted with the lady of the house to know - never mind how - that she had plenty more increasingly rigorous remedies up her sleeve if that didn't do the trick.   
  
All of a sudden Vinnie sat up, coughing, in a swell of flavored water; Spike couldn't say if his button eyes were streaming with tears (or if he had tears) but his skin was certainly flushed an unusual shade of pinkish-gray.   
  
"Well, well! Look who's back in the land of the living. You're a genius, love," he said.   
  
"I live long time, I learn a few things," Mrs. C said, with a modest smile.  
  
"Spike?" Vinnie said, his voice rougher than ever. "Listen, I don't want any trouble - "  
  
"Hey, you don't KNOW what kind of trouble you'd be in if it wasn't for him," Wally said hotly.   
  
"Wally? Is that you?" Vinnie evidently couldn't see very clearly yet.  
  
"You're damn right it's me," the mer-man said irately. "What do you think you're doing, Vinnie? Dot's just frantic."  
  
Vinnie suddenly collapsed back into the tub, and somehow an expression of deep melancholy overtook his theoretically immobile features. "She's better off without me," he groaned. "She should just forget she ever knew me."  
  
Spike didn't like the way this conversation was going; he was getting that constricted feeling in his chest again. Maybe getting Vinnie to look on the bright side would help.  
  
"Look here, mate; Wally here came all the way from LA to find you for her, so why don't you let her decide? Have yourself a wash and brush up and you'll feel better about everything."  
  
"That's rich! I'll never feel better about anything." Vinnie gave a bitter laugh. "What I'll feel is dead. I'm doomed. I'm sorta surprised they haven't gotten me yet - but they will."  
  
"Who? What have you been up to?"  
  
"Hey, I was just going about my business, you know what I mean? I didn't mean to step on anybody's toes. How did I know who the big wheel was in this town? It seemed like easy pickings, present company excepted."  
  
"What big wheel? Who'd you piss off, Vinnie?"  
  
Vinnie looked at his brother-in-law almost furtively. "Don't you know? He should have told you. You gotta get out of here, Wally; if they see you helping me - " He shot an accusing look at Spike. "You should have told him. They could be after him too now."  
  
"I don't know what you're talking about, mate," Spike said in some exasperation. Sober Vinnie was not a big improvement on completely blotto Vinnie so far.  
  
"You must know," Vinnie half whispered, leaning towards them. "It's The Doctor. The Doctor is after me. I might as well kill myself right now."  
  
There was a sudden silence. Seconds ticked by. Shaken, Wally searched for something reassuring to tell Vinnie; Mrs. Caprescu crossed her arms, and shivered. The crowded little room filled with tension, and each face showed a degree of apprehension, even dread.   
  
Except one.   
  
"Who the hell is this bleeding Doctor, when he's at home?" Spike said, irked. "No one ever tells me a sodding thing."  
  
"Well, I've heard some bad things - " Wally said slowly, his face still shocked. "There's been big trouble here - "  
  
"I've heard things, too," Mrs. C said, with a disturbed expression. "The Doctor is one to stay away from."   
  
"So who is the guy?" Spike could feel his face grow grim as a few incidents he'd tried hard to forget came to mind. "'Cause I've got a bone to pick with 'im myself, now that I think of it."  
  
"Guy! You think it's a man?" Vinnie said, with a note of hysteria in his voice.  
  
"Well, beastie, or woman, then," Spike said impatiently.  
  
"A woman!" This was a half-shriek. Spike and Wally's eyes met. Looked like Vinnie was going off the deep end again. He put his hands - or rather flippers - to his head, his eyes vacant, and subsided once more, saying musingly, "Maybe it WAS a woman... once."   
  
Okay, this was getting creepy; but it wasn't really progress, was it? Enough of the talk; it was time for some action.   
  
"Look, mate," Spike said in an authoritative but soothing tone, "No one knows where you are, right? So you clear right out of town; Wally can tell you I've got connections in LA who can protect you from anything, and I mean anything." He patted Vinnie's dorsal. "Go on back to the missus with Wally here, and I'll look into it from this end. Because I really don't feature letting some demonic troll run my friends out of town on a whim." Fine - so now Vinnie bloody Teeth was his friend, too. But he just couldn't seem to stop himself from saying these things. He was a damned friendly vampire nowadays.   
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
"Dawn!" Buffy yelled, racing up the stairs. She found her sister curled up on the floor by the door of their mother's bedroom, sobbing in fear.   
  
"Buffy, there's something in there," she wailed, "Where IT happened - where I found her! Something moved! Buffy, what is it!"  
  
"Oh, honey," Trembling with relief, Buffy fell to her knees, hugging her sister close, "No! It's not anything bad. Shhh, it's okay. It's just Xander."   
  
Dawn pulled away in surprise.   
  
"Xander!" she said. "Why's he here? Oh, Buffy, you two weren't - "  
  
"Oh, Dawnie, no!" Not to mention, eeew. Especially after comparing him with Spike just now - better not think of that. "No - he's just - he's not feeling well."  
  
"Buffy, what's going on?" Dawn said, her eyes serious. "Please. I heard Spike's voice and I just wanted to - I know you want to protect me, but it's much worse being in the dark."  
  
Buffy took her hand and held it. Of course it was worse.   
  
"I know. I'm sorry. Look, honey, go back to your room and I'll come in and tell you everything, I promise." Dawn nodded, and scrambled to her feet.  
  
After taking a few minutes to change out of her now incredibly uncomfortable outfit (which she supposed Spike hadn't even looked at) - she actually gasped stepping out of her high-heeled shoes - Buffy went to Dawn's room and sat on the foot of the bed.  
  
"Xander's in trouble," she said bluntly. She'd promised not to sugarcoat - so there it was.   
  
"What's wrong?"  
  
Buffy hesitated. It was so hard to say this right out.  
  
"You know since the wedding, he's been - well, a mess. And he's really been drinking a lot - more than I realized."  
  
"Like his dad," Dawn said austerely, with the clear-eyed self-righteousness of a teenager. Buffy remembered it well.   
  
"I guess so." Though that was exactly what he always swore he would never do. Buffy wondered if he even knew how much like his father he seemed lately. It was weird and embarrassing, and sort of scary. She was really not looking forward to facing him when he woke up. "Anyway, tonight - well, tonight Spike found him lying in the street, passed out, in a pretty bad part of town. That's why he called me. And we brought him back here. That's when you heard Spike's voice."  
  
Dawn sat up at that.  
  
"Spike helped Xander? Spike HATES Xander!"  
  
"I know, but - well, I guess he still didn't want to see any small-time vamps get him..." That did sound unconvincing; she'd been wondering too, but she couldn't come up with an explanation.  
  
"He saved Xander from vampires? Buffy, what is up with him? He is acting so weird lately."  
  
Buffy thought that probably qualified for the understatement of the century, but by now she felt too confused and, let's face it, emotional to come up with an answer.  
  
"I don't know - he doesn't really talk to me now; I told him to move on, and I guess he did. I suppose that's better for everyone... " She said miserably, her voice trailing off.   
  
This time Dawn took her hand comfortingly.  
  
"Buffy, I'm sure he still cares about us," she said.  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
"Right," Spike said, "You two scarper off to Angel's place of business - they'll be expecting you. Then you tell 'em every bleeding thing you can think of about this Doctor, down to the last detail. They'll probably put you up for the duration, and the little woman, too. Very posh, by the way; you'll like it."  
  
"We'll be okay, Vinnie, don't worry," Wally said. "They have a lot of experience with this sort of thing - well, any sort of thing."  
  
Wally and Vinnie were ready to leave. Vinnie wore the crumpled remains of a once-handsome custom-made suit (which, moreover, now had a distinct pinkish tinge), and looked very much the worse for wear himself, but he seemed to have regained his nerve.  
  
"I sure hope you're right," Vinnie said, looking unconvinced. "Look - I gotta say this - thanks, Spike. You didn't have to do this for me."  
  
"Don't mention it," Spike said, disconcerted. This was the worst bit about good deeds, if you asked him - the gratitude. It made his flesh creep; he didn't know how Buffy and all those hero-types stood it. Fortunately, the moment passed. The two travelers thanked their hostess, like well brought up demons; then they shook hands (or flippers) with Spike, thumped shoulders all around, and were off to the safe haven of the Hyperion Hotel.  
  
Sounding in their ears (if applicable) were Spike's confident final words, "Don't you worry - we'll get this Doctor bird sorted."  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
It was three a.m. Far above the darkened streets of Sunnydale, with no one to see or hear it, a black helicopter whirred towards an unknown destination.   
  
  
TBC  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
"I ASK not how thy suffering came,  
Or if by sin, or if by shame,  
Or if by Fate's capricious rulings:  
To my large pity all's the same.  
  
Come close and lean against a heart  
Eaten by pain and stung by smart;  
It is enough if thou hast suffered,  
Brother or sister then thou art."  
  
Anne Reeve Aldrich 


	6. In the Dark Room

Title: SAMARITAN  
Author: Ivytree  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc. Except Wally and Mrs. C. And maybe...  
Feedback: Please!  
Summary: Sequel to Grandpa; A soul makes everyday demands, and others a little more esoteric  
Setting: The near future; say, September  
  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
  
SAMARITAN Pt. 6 In the Dark Room  
  
  
"Come in, whoever!" Spike bellowed.   
  
An ordinary street map of Sunnydale was spread out on the floor. Off-road pathways had been carefully added to it using various colored markers, and he was now generating a key on the side of the sheet, color-coding underground waterways, natural caves and tunnels, sewer and electrical lines, Initiative constructed passages, and routes local demons had dug out themselves through the years. Clem leaned over his shoulder, adding his own bits of data. Handpicked members of the demon community would be arriving soon for a strategy meeting, so Spike expected the rap at his crypt door. But it wasn't a demon.  
  
"Hi, Clem!" Dawn said brightly, descending the steps. "Hey, Spike! What are you guys doing?"  
  
Spike rose, surprised and a little wary. "Hello, Little Bit. Your sis know you're here?"  
  
"I didn't exactly tell her," she said with practiced nonchalance, "but she couldn't wait for me to get out of the house anyway, in case Xander wakes up."  
  
"Uh-huh." Spike's eyes narrowed slightly. Sometimes he thought he owed his strong sense of self-preservation entirely to being brought up with sisters, all those years ago. "And you scampered over here why?"  
  
"I sort of wanted to talk to you alone. What's that?" she said, eyeing the map. She was fiddling with her backpack straps; he hoped Buffy hadn't specifically told her NOT to come over.  
  
He took her arm and led her toward the kitchen area as Clem self-effacingly moved away. "It's a map. Now, what's up, Dawn? You know you shouldn't come here without Slayer's permission. You need me for something?"  
  
"It's just that -" she hesitated for a moment. Then she said in a rush, her eyes big with apprehension, "Spike - are you okay? You don't have some kind of vamp disease, do you?"  
  
Now, there was a melodramatic idea; how had she come up with that one? "Whatever gave you an idea like that, Niblet? No, I'm strong as a horse; stronger, as a matter of fact."  
  
"But you're acting all weird. You helped XANDER. When Buffy told me that - I thought - I thought you must be dying or something!"  
  
Her concern caught him unawares. He wondered why emotion always gave him a strange feeling in his chest lately; it wasn't as though his shiny new soul made his heart beat, after all. Anyway, she did have a point.   
  
"I'll admit me helping Monkey Boy may be a sign of the apocalypse," he said, with a laugh, "but apart from that there's nothing wrong, sweetness. No final acts of redemption for this vamp, yeah? Nice of you to care, though. So... she told you?"  
  
"Well, yeah, 'cause he's like snoring in mom's bedroom. It's gross," she said with elaborate disdain, pressing her lips into a thin line just like her sister.  
  
"Don't be too hard on him, pet." Spike hated hearing that bitter tone in her voice. "He'll be punishing himself quite enough, don't you worry."  
  
  
* * * *   
  
  
Buffy rinsed out another dish and placed it carefully in the drying rack; she'd already broken two saucers waiting for Xander to appear. Half-a-dozen times she'd been tempted to just go to the grocery store or something and hope he'd be gone when she got back. But that was cowardly. Xander was her friend; it was her decision to bring him home in that condition, and it was her responsibility to talk to him about it.  
  
She poured fresh coffee and sat down at the counter, willing herself to relax. It was pleasant in the kitchen; sunlight streamed in through the windows and since she'd spent the morning cleaning to relieve tension, everything looked neat and tidy for a change. She breathed in the bitter, invigorating aroma of the coffee, appreciating the warmth and weight of the mug in her hands. Sometimes it was good to just be aware of where you were right at that moment. Especially if it kept you from thinking about other things.  
  
Then the footsteps she'd been dreading sounded on the stairs, and Xander stood in the doorway. His clothes were disarrayed, his hair standing in clumps, his face puffy and unshaven. Worst of all was the expression in his eyes - simple shame. It was an expression she'd gotten to know rather well in the last year. Buffy knew her own face was reproachful, and forced herself to look away.  
  
"Coffee?" she said.  
  
He sat down with caution, wincing and leaning on the counter. "That would be a miracle," he said hoarsely.   
  
She poured some and put it in front of him.   
  
"Thanks," he said, inhaling gratefully. Then he looked up at her, his dark eyes somber.   
  
"Buff - I sorta, well, blacked out about last night; I don't have any idea what I did, or where. When did I - how long have I - "  
  
She picked up her mug, just to have something to do with her hands, which were trembling. Best just let him have it.  
  
"You passed out in the street near the Fish Tank," she said. "Two vamps were about to snack on you when Spike happened by, got rid of them, and called me. We brought you here."  
  
"SPIKE? Spike did?" Xander scrubbed his hair with both hands. She should have known he'd fixate on that. But she had to tell him. "I didn't even know he was back. And may I digress to say he can't leave again soon enough for me."  
  
"You'd be dead if it wasn't for him." She couldn't help letting some of her anger show.   
  
"Why didn't he just let them have me?"  
  
"I don't know," she said baldly. "Is that what you wanted? To die?"  
  
His eyes sought the darkness of his coffee. He didn't answer for a moment. Then he said, without looking up, "You seem to get along pretty well with dead people."  
  
"That's none of your business; you're not my father. You may be turning into yours, but you're not mine."  
  
"What's that supposed to mean?"  
  
"Look at yourself, Xander! Look at us, right here, right now. Haven't you seen this exact scene a hundred times?"  
  
"I don't - I don't know what you're talking about." He didn't meet her eyes, but she could see a muscle jumping in his jaw.  
  
"Do you want to get killed? Is this a way to get back at Anya? So she'll be sorry - we'll all be sorry when you're gone? News flash. Dying won't make it better, for anyone. I should know."  
  
"Buffy - what we did to you..." Guilt still stung him when nothing else could, it seemed.  
  
"You know what?" So she wasn't being very sympathetic; she was weary of sparing people's feelings. "This isn't about me, Xander; it's about you. It's not my problem. It's your problem. And if you don't face that, it will kill you. And I'm asking you - is that what you want?"  
  
"Okay. Here's the truth. I don't know. It's just getting hard to care anymore."  
  
"Xander -" She spoke more gently now. "I tried giving up, too; I tried running away, like you're doing. I tried numbing the pain. But let me tell you, that doesn't work, either. You just end up hurting people - people who don't deserve it. Because whatever you tell yourself, you're not alone. There are people who care about you. And when you hurt yourself, you hurt them."  
  
"Maybe they shouldn't. Maybe they'd be better off if they didn't care."  
  
"Maybe so," Buffy said, sudden tears hot behind her eyelids. "But that won't stop someone who really loves you."   
  
  
* * * *   
  
  
"So what are you guys doing?" Dawn asked.  
  
"Making a map of the real Sunnydale," Clem said happily.  
  
"What for?"  
  
"Some of our friends have had a spot of bother."  
  
"There's this Napoleon of Crime preying on the citizenry, and Spike's gonna stop her," Clem said with relish. Spike sighed in exasperation; obviously, he was the only adult in the room. Now Dawn began to catch Clem's enthusiasm, and bent to peer at the map.   
  
"It can hardly be a 'Napoleon' if it's a she," Spike pointed out deflatingly.  
  
"A Josephine of Crime?" Clem said, his ears cocked at a hopeful angle.  
  
Dawn's face fell. "That doesn't sound very scary."   
  
"Oh, she's scary, all right," Spike said. He heard the grit in his own voice. "And dead clever; I owe her one myself. And she's most definitely going down for that, this Doctor bird." Then he shook himself, remembering Dawn's illicit presence. "And you're going home, Niblet."  
  
"I thought we could hang out for a while." She pouted just like her sister, too, but he wasn't falling for it this time.  
  
"Sorry - I'm expecting some mates any time. Off you go, now, and don't be too rough on the Bricklayer, all right?" He steered her to the door. "He already feels worse than you can possibly imagine - at least I bloody well hope so."  
  
"Oh, all right," she grumbled, allowing herself to be escorted out. "But this still doesn't explain why you were all nice to Angel," she said over her shoulder.  
  
Spike cursed mildly to himself. Obviously, she wasn't going to let it go; well, he'd just have to think of some rationale. He saw his friend looking at him with round crimson eyes.   
  
"What?" he said.  
  
"Don't they know?" Clem asked.  
  
  
TBC  
  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
  
"GIVE me hunger,  
O you gods that sit and give  
The world its orders.  
Give me hunger, pain and want,  
Shut me out with shame and failure  
From your doors of gold and fame,  
Give me your shabbiest, weariest hunger!  
  
But leave me a little love,  
A voice to speak to me in the day end,  
A hand to touch me in the dark room  
Breaking the long loneliness.  
In the dusk of day-shapes  
Blurring the sunset,  
One little wandering, western star  
Thrust out from the changing shores of shadow.  
Let me go to the window,  
Watch there the day-shapes of dusk  
And wait and know the coming  
Of a little love."  
  
Carl Sandburg 


	7. Blinded Eyes and Burning

Title: SAMARITAN  
Author: Ivytree  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc. Except Wally and Mrs. C. And maybe...  
Feedback: Please!  
Summary: Sequel to Grandpa; A soul makes everyday demands, and others a little more esoteric  
Setting: The near future; say, September  
  
A/N: Sorry, guys, it's a little long, but I wanted to get all this in one chapter.  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
  
SAMARITAN Pt. 7 Blinded Eyes and Burning  
  
  
Buffy decided to walk to the Magic Box; it was a lovely day, crisp, bright, and breezy. Dawn was with Janice, and would likely return with green toenails, the latest amongst Sunnydale teens, and Xander had shuffled home to his empty apartment. She had a few hours to herself, and she needed to talk to Anya. Perhaps it was none of her business - okay, she knew perfectly well it was none of her business - but she thought Anya should at least know what kind of shape Xander was in. She'd want to know if - well, if anyone she cared about was in trouble.  
  
Since getting to know her better at last, Buffy liked Anya. (One thing that kept her from liking Anya before was a reluctance to upset Willow; strange, but true.) Sure, she was a little weird, but which of them wasn't? Among her other admirable qualities, Anya was honest, which was a refreshing change from the denial-loving Scoobies. Maybe that was a demon thing, but instead of feeling threatened, she'd come to value it.  
  
It was true, advice to the lovelorn wasn't exactly her forte. What did she know about relationships, except how to shatter one into a million irretrievable pieces? Her record of sending lovers running for the exit, however devoted they might be at first, was quite evidently unbroken. But if Xander wanted Anya, and Anya wanted Xander, Buffy was ready to do anything in her power to help them. Because she wanted to see someone happy, sometime. It must be possible, even in Sunnydale.  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
"So we'll be needing some muscle," Spike concluded, "but we need brains, too. Things don't add up. This bint has her tentacles spread throughout the Sunnydale underworld; she knows everything, has power over everyone, but never goes anywhere herself - why?"  
  
"I dunno; nobody ever sees her," said Eddie. Eddie was the bouncer at the Red Sunset Club, a powerful, green-skinned Savra demon with a rasping voice. "Her boys never report right to her, and they get orders second hand. Even the hard guys from out of town are scared."  
  
"Is there something wrong with her?" Spike wondered. "Maybe she can't get about, or needs a special environment, or something."  
  
"And how does she get her henchmen to do her bidding if she can't threaten them?" Clem said.  
  
"Thrall," said Zevra, her orange eyes flashing. Zevra was an Amazonian Zantip, with glossy black skin and a mane of white hair. She wore the traditional garb of her clan - scanty, skin-tight leather (this was one tradition Spike, a professed iconoclast, approved of, as did male demons of many species and indeed any male human who became aware of it); she was also heavily armed. "One of our sisters was taken once," she continued, "though she escaped eventually. But she told us that the Terrible One keeps her followers in thrall. The will is overcome."  
  
Abner cleared his throat. He was a strapping young Minotaur, barely out of his teens; he and his identical twin brother Abel, also present, were a bit shy but eager for their first battle. "I heard no one ever leaves; either they work for her until they're killed, or they disappear and are never seen again," he said.  
  
"Interesting." Spike stubbed out his cigarette. "So how'd your girl get away, Zev?"  
  
Most uncharacteristically, the Amazon looked flustered. "Well..."  
  
"Come on, love - takes more than willpower to overcome the old hey!presto."  
  
Zevra traced a pattern on the crypt floor with her spear point, not meeting his eyes. "Between ourselves?" she said. The others, barely able to contain their curiosity, made sounds of assent. She took a breath. "She's part human. It doesn't work on humans."  
  
"Zevvie, I AM shocked," Spike said, suppressing a grin. Amazons were notoriously fastidious about interbreeding (not sex - they loved sex); obviously some lucky bloke had slipped in under the fence, so to speak. However, this raised an interesting question. "Does it work on vamps?"  
  
"I don't think so," she said slowly. "I've never heard of a vampire serving her. I think you're too human. Sorry, Spike."  
  
"That's all right, love, no offense taken."  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
"I didn't want to have to break it to you this way, but he's not good, and I think you have a right to know," Buffy said. Anya sat at the makeshift table in the Magic Box, her brown eyes filled with pain, and tears.  
  
"What right do I have? Xander didn't want me to be a part of his life." She dabbed at her eyes with a lace-edged handkerchief - trust Anya to be sad and feminine and conventional, all at the same time, and also to go just a little bit overboard.  
  
"Look, I know it's not my place to say anything. But I think - I know - he still loves you. In his mind, what he did to you is the worst thing he's ever done, and he just can't live with himself because of it. He thinks you'll never forgive him, and he can't forgive himself." Suddenly Buffy felt she just had to make Anya see before it was too late.   
  
She went on passionately, "But he DOES care. He's keeping away from you and being all casual because he thinks you'll never want to see him again, but it's hurting him - and I think it's hurting you. You might lose something really precious if you can't - " she stopped all at once, her voice suspended by tears.  
  
Anya reached over and took her hand. "Are you sure it's just me and Xander you're talking about?"  
  
"Maybe not," Buffy said, sniffling. "But hey, call me the queen of missed opportunities - also queen of regrets. It's not worth losing what you're losing just for pride."  
  
"What do you think I should do? To let him know I still - I don't - " She twisted her pretty handkerchief.  
  
"Well, I probably shouldn't be giving advice," Buffy temporized. Maybe I overdid this, she thought. What can I say - be like me, clumsy and inarticulate; that'll get him back! "I'm not exactly Ms. Big Success in this area. I'm just saying, if you care - don't give up."  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
"Right," Spike said briskly. "We're getting a handle on this. If we can cut off this thrall thingy, and liberate the minions, we'd be well on the road to bringing the Doctor down for good. But I think we should consult one more expert."  
  
"Who? Ahn Jung-hwan the Sorcerer?" Abel said. "Sukar the Sage?  
  
Spike grinned. "Not exactly."  
  
"No, it's my mom!" Clem said proudly. "She's got tons of old-world knowledge about spells and stuff, she can diagnose all kinds of magic, and she knows about potions, too."  
  
"It would help if we actually got hold of a minion, but I suppose that's too much to ask," Spike mused.  
  
"We might be able to grab one," Eddie said. "These boys can help me." Abner and Abel nodded their massive horned heads, their great dark eyes glowing with enthusiasm.  
  
"Brilliant. See what you can do." He rose to signal the meeting was ending, saying, "Zev, we should talk to your sis directly. And I've got one more source that might have something to tell us. So let's connect up tonight at Mrs. C's house, compare notes, work out our strategy."  
  
With that the demons went off on their various assignments, and Spike strode off into the dusk toward the Magic Box. Anya would know something about thrall, or at least where to look for more information. Fortunately, she was a sensible type of girl; they'd met a couple of times since the little incident between them last spring, and after a few minutes any hint of awkwardness disappeared. Now they were just acquaintances again - possibly even friends.  
  
He was pumped, in fact. His idea for getting the gen on the Doctor was working out, he could see the prospect of revenge and a lively fight, side by side with his mates, and - to top it all - he was helping people. Well, not exactly people, but peaceful, law-abiding folks, anyway. It felt all right. This, he could do.  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
"You're right," Anya said, with a determined set to her chin. "I've been moping too long; it's time to take action. Next time I see Xander, I'll - "  
  
The shop doorbell interrupted her. Xander stood in the entrance, looking spruced up, but uncertain and still rather unwell.  
  
"Buffy, I came because I thought you'd want to - I had to tell you - " His eyes locked with Anya's. "Hey, Ahn," he said softly.  
  
"Hello, Xander," she said, her lips curving into a smile. She rose from her chair, and they stood there wordlessly gazing at each other.  
  
"Hi there," Buffy said after a few moments. "I'm another person in the room. I'll just sit here until someone notices me."  
  
"That's nice," Anya said.  
  
But Xander suddenly roused himself. "Oh, right; Buffy. I was going by your house and I saw something - I don't know, bizarre. I just thought you'd want to know. It was Amy. She was sort of skulking, or possibly slinking. Whatever it was, she looked really bad. And not un-ratlike."  
  
"Amy!" To tell the truth, what with one thing and another, Buffy had completely forgotten about Amy. "What could she want? I don't even know where she lives now."  
  
"It's not like we sent out announcements when Willow went away; maybe she's looking for her," Xander said. "But she seemed - stealthy, somehow."  
  
"She used to hang around Rack, but he's, well, gone - " Buffy reflected. She so did not want to spend her time searching for Amy, of all people; it's not like the girl posed a threat. But there might be more pushers out there, she guessed. Oh, darn. "I suppose I'd better see what she - "  
  
The bell sounded again.  
  
"Hey, Buffy; hey, Anya!" Dawn said with a cheeriness that instantly roused Buffy's suspicions. But on the other hand, maybe she did it to torture Xander, because instead of offering a greeting she just rolled her eyes at him.  
  
"Weren't you at Janice's house?" Buffy said.  
  
"Yeah, but she wanted to go to the mall and I'm like not allowed yet. So I came over here to help Anya." She smiled seraphically.  
  
"Well, that was nice," Buffy began.  
  
"But you know what? I dropped by Spike's first and he's working on this plan - " she added in a rush.  
  
"Dawn, I don't want you imposing on Spike," Buffy interrupted, switching instantly to firm guardian mode, "he could have things to do - "  
  
"Oh, yeah, right," Xander said, flushing, "like what?"  
  
Buffy rounded on him, "Oh, I don't know, Xander; how about saving your LIFE? Or isn't that - "  
  
At this inauspicious point, the bell rang AGAIN. Four faces swiveled automatically toward the door - followed by four varying expressions of shock, dismay and apprehension.  
  
Buffy found her voice first.  
  
"Hi," she said unsteadily. "I didn't expect to see you again."  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
Spike swung jauntily around the corner. Anya would have the shop all organized again by now; she'd be able to put her hand right on the books and references he was looking for, he was sure. She was a smart girl - pulled herself together and got right back to work. That was the best remedy, or so he'd always heard.  
  
He let himself wonder if he should ask about the Slayer. Just casually. Who knew how long it would be before he saw her again?  
  
But as he neared the Magic Box, he slowed suddenly, sensing Buffy's presence. She was there. Well, she'd made every effort to be civil last night, even apologized. And it wasn't as though he'd just come 'round to bother her; this was different. He was on a legitimate errand.  
  
And he'd be near her, even for just a few minutes.   
  
He stood at the shop door and straightened his shoulders, taking a deep breath. Then he opened the door. That little bell tinkled.  
  
And he saw Buffy. She was there, all right.   
  
With her arms around Riley Finn.  
  
  
TBC  
  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
  
"LOOK, O blinded eyes and burning,  
Think, O heart amazed with yearning,  
Is it yet beyond thine earning,  
That delight that was thine all?-  
Wilful eyes and undiscerning,  
Heart ashamed of bitter learning,  
It is flown beyond returning,  
It is lost beyond recall."  
  
Frederick William Henry Myers 


	8. Blood for Blood

Title: SAMARITAN  
Author: Ivytree  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc. Except Wally and Mrs. C and the gang.  
Feedback: Please!  
Summary: Sequel to Grandpa; A soul makes everyday demands, and others a little more esoteric... and tougher.  
Setting: The near future; say, September  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
  
SAMARITAN Pt. 8 Blood for Blood   
  
  
"Hi," Buffy said unsteadily. "I didn't expect to see you again."  
  
Riley, dressed in the same high-tech battle gear he'd worn when they saw him last, stood swaying on the top step of the Magic Box entrance.   
  
"What the - " Xander said. Anya stepped back a few paces, looking extremely uneasy. Dawn, her expression inscrutable, moved to her side and put an arm around her.  
  
"Buffy - " Riley said urgently, half-stumbling down the steps towards her.  
  
"Riley, what's wrong? Are you okay?" He looked so unsteady that Buffy rushed forward and took his arm.  
  
"I need your help," he said. "Buffy, you've got to help me."  
  
There were bluish streaks under his bloodshot eyes and his hands trembled slightly. She led him to a chair and pressed him into it.   
  
"Riley, of course I'll help you; what happened?" she said. "Are you hurt?"  
  
"I haven't slept in - well, it seems like weeks," he said, rubbing both hands over his head. "I can't stop - I have to - "  
  
"What is it? Another demon hunt?" Xander said. "A threat from the Hellmouth?"  
  
Riley ignored him, and indeed everyone in the room; his eyes never left Buffy's face. He clutched her hand. "Buffy, if you ever cared about me, please help me now. There's nowhere else I can go; there's no time - " He rubbed tears from his face with his forearm; distressed for him, she wrapped an arm around his shoulders. What on earth could have happened to reduce him to this state? When he left Sunnydale, he seemed so confident and secure. The last thing in the world she expected was to see Riley break down - he'd always seemed so - so normal. "I've got to find her - " he choked. "I've got to."  
  
She bent her head over his to hear what he was trying to get out. "Who, Riley?" she asked gently. "Is it Sam?"  
  
Unexpectedly, the bell rang again; everyone jumped. Buffy turned her head to see Spike standing in the doorway looking straight at her, his face white as frost. She stood transfixed to the spot - with her arms around Riley Finn.  
  
Spike's lambent blue gaze flickered to Anya.   
  
"Sorry," he said, in an emotionless voice, "didn't know you were busy. I'll come back." Then he swung out the door and was gone.  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
He couldn't feel his body. He knew he was walking because he heard his boots strike the sidewalk with a solid, gritty sound. He was cold. After so many long years he should be used to the cold, he thought; usually he didn't regard it, the same way he never missed his own heartbeat, or blood flowing. But now he felt cold; cold and dead. Yet something made him keep moving fast, moving away.  
  
It was dark now, and night air ran over his hair, his eyelids, his ears like chilly fingers; he wasn't sure where he was but he'd come a long way from the Magic Box. He strode past lit shopfronts, bars, and fast-food places, flashing vivid, incongruous colors in his eyes. He passed people, demons, vampires; he couldn't comprehend any of them. There were too many faces, too many personalities, and too many needs. He turned down an alley to get away from them.   
  
From nowhere, a vampire lunged at him, yelling something; he swung around, a stake sliding automatically into his hand, and thrust it home. He walked on unseeing. Two others began to follow him; he heard their approach and let them come within range, then spun and fell on them, striking without thinking - the first vamp was dust, the second tried to run, and he was on him in a flash; again, the stake found its mark.  
  
He moved through the back alleys of Sunnydale, apart from the flurry of life and activity pervading the streets. Now his body felt heavy and frigid; maybe this was rigor mortis, he thought. Maybe he was really dead at last. He tried to laugh but his face was too stiff.   
  
He looked neither left nor right but nevertheless, down a passageway, movement caught his eye - a sandy-haired woman in a raincoat was grappling ineffectively with an obvious vampire. He felt himself alter as he ran toward them; the burdensome chill of his body all at once changed to heat, and wrath smoldered through his veins like lava. Roaring, he seized the attacking vamp and tossed him overhead to smash against a brick wall. The woman cowered, whimpering, before his blazing, tawny eyes and demonic face.  
  
"Run," he growled, and as she scrambled away, he turned to her attacker. After a brief, brutal struggle he had him down, stake poised. The vamp looked up with a human face, terror in his eyes. He looked like an ordinary businessman, rather well dressed; just normal. Spike drove the stake into his heart and watched the eyes turn to dust, nothing but dust. No terror anymore. He did laugh then.  
  
And then he ran. If he didn't get away from all the wanting, the needing, the longing, pressing in on him from all sides, what more might he do? Who or what might he kill? No one was safe; the thirst for carnage was rising in him. He had to be alone. So he ran.  
  
As he turned past the iron gate of his home cemetery he heard a low rumble behind him. Momoc demon - evil, violent, stupid. Just one more, then. He slowed to permit its approach, and as it rushed him, he doubled over, letting it slam into his back and tumble over him to the ground. He danced backwards, fists at the ready, as it clambered to its feet, and when it lunged toward him he attacked, throwing himself toward its antlered head, twisting viciously as he descended. He felt the thick neck snap; the creature was dead before it struck the path. He stood over the carcass panting, his passion for bloodshed still unsatisfied. He had to get home.   
  
He stopped short near the door of his crypt and stared for a moment at the headstone with the heart painstakingly carved into the marble. Then with one shoulder-cracking heave he wrenched it from the ground and threw it crashing against the side of the structure.   
  
He kicked in his own door and paused in the entrance, then strode into the room, raised his armchair over his head, and threw it against the wall with all his might, breaking the chair into pieces and knocking a shower of candles down from the window ledge with a muffled clatter.   
  
Jerking open a cabinet, he grabbed a full bottle and clutched it to his chest. Then he staggered backward till his shoulders pressed against the rough, chilly stone of the crypt wall, and slid down until he sat on the floor. It was dark. He didn't have to see anything, think anything, feel anything. He squeezed his eyes shut so there was only blackness.   
  
After few moments, he sent the bottle crashing against the opposite wall.  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
Beset by memories - shameful however she looked at them - of what had happened last time Spike saw her with Riley, Buffy felt herself blush hotly, and then grow pale.   
  
"Oh, Buffy," she heard Dawn say, "you don't think he - I mean, he didn't think -?"  
  
"I'm afraid that's what it looked like," Anya said in a sympathetic voice.   
  
Xander, still not exactly at his best, looked from one girl to another in confusion. Riley didn't even seem to have noticed any interruption; he went right on telling her about Sam.  
  
"The last time - when we came to Sunnydale - something happened to her," he said. "She's been acting more and more strangely, and then suddenly she took off. I - I tracked her. I tracked her here. I think - I didn't know at the time - but I think someone got to her." Something in his voice sounded strained.   
  
"Someone?" Buffy said, reluctantly returning to the emergency at hand. After all, it wasn't Riley's fault - well, it sort of was, but he still needed her help, she supposed. It certainly wasn't Sam's fault. She forced herself to listen to him.  
  
"There's someone here in Sunnydale - someone powerful - called the Doctor," Riley said, not meeting her gaze.   
  
Buffy stood away from him, a horrible misgiving coming over her. She racked her brain to remember exactly what he had said - "What do you mean, 'someone'? You told me - you let me think Spike was this Doctor."   
  
"Buffy! That's impossible!" Dawn cried. "That's what I tried to tell you before!"  
  
"What do you mean, Dawnie?" This time she took her sister seriously.  
  
"I went over to Spike's before and that's what they're working on. He and Clem have this real cool plan to CATCH the Doctor. So it couldn't be him; that's just dumb, anyway."  
  
"You lied to me." Buffy turned to Riley incredulously. "You were going to kill him, and you were lying all the time! You just flew off - you let me think that, and you KNEW it wasn't true?"  
  
He looked at the floor, evading her eyes.   
  
"I knew," he said.  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
"Spike?" Clem said, poking his head through the ruined door of the crypt.   
  
"What're you doing here?" Spike said in a harsh voice.  
  
"I forgot the map," Clem replied equably. "Golly, what happened?" he exclaimed, stepping into the main room. "Uh-oh, it wasn't another visit from the Slayer, was it?"  
  
Spike laughed. "You could say that."  
  
"How come you're sitting there in the dark? We gotta go; the others will be over at mom's soon."  
  
Spike let his head rest against the stone wall.   
  
"I don't think I can do this," he said.  
  
  
TBC  
  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
  
"There will no man do for your sake, I think,  
What I would have done for the least word said.  
I had wrung life dry for your lips to drink,  
Broken it up for your daily bread:  
Body for body and blood for blood,  
As the flow of the full sea risen to flood  
That yearns and trembles before it sink,  
I had given, and lain down for you, glad and dead."  
  
Swinburne 


	9. Seed of Glory

Title: SAMARITAN  
Author: Ivytree  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc. Except Wally and Mrs. C. And maybe...  
Feedback: Please!  
Summary: Sequel to Grandpa; A soul makes everyday demands, and others a little more esoteric... and tougher.  
Setting: The near future; say, September  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
  
SAMARITAN Pt. 9 Seed of Glory  
  
  
"I don't think I can do this," Spike said. He pressed the back of his head against the cool stone of the crypt wall.  
  
Clem sat down on the step.  
  
"Want to talk about it?" he said.  
  
"Hard to explain, really" Spike said. "It's not like I thought she'd ever - that we could ever - " No, he never thought that. He'd let himself believe they could be friends, though; that he could be a part of her life she didn't despise. That he could help her out sometimes, maybe. But with that - that prat around again, poisoning her against him -   
  
Clem watched him with round ruby eyes, his ears drooping. "So this is about the Slayer?"  
  
Spike let out a long breath. He wondered why he still breathed. He used to flatter himself that he was a realist; wasn't he really a sentimentalist, underneath, pretending to be alive? Pretending to matter? Right now his heart should be thudding against his ribs, but when he crossed his arms over his chest there was nothing. If it was still and cold and dead, how could it hurt this way?   
  
"'Can't be a human, can't be a vampire.' Why do I want what I can't have? What am I?" He pressed the heels of his hands over his eyes. "What the bloody hell do I think I am?"  
  
Clem bent his head.   
  
"When my pop died," he said, "I got pretty mad at humans; I even sort of wanted to get back at them. You know what happened - it was rough."  
  
Spike knew. The Initiative. It was rough, all right, although he was finding it hard to picture Clem filled with vengeful anger. Still, those were dark days.  
  
"But Mom said, you shouldn't hate people because of what they ARE. We didn't love Pop because he was a demon, like us - we loved him because of what he did, every day. We would have loved him just as much if HE'D been human."  
  
"That's - "  
  
"What Mom always says is, it doesn't matter what you are - it's what you do that counts. And anyone who doesn't believe that is - well, they're just plain talking through their hat."  
  
Spike was silent for a space. Then he said, "Your mum knows a lot."  
  
"That's another thing she always says!" Clem smiled, showing a flash of fang.  
  
Spike rubbed his face with both hands. He wished he had a cigarette, but he'd been so busy he'd forgotten to pick any up; and he knew Mrs. C wouldn't have them in the house. Damn.   
  
"So did you find the map?" he said.  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
"Look, Dawnie," Buffy said, "I want you to do me a really big favor and stay here with Anya."  
  
"I want to go with you," Dawn said - not too pathetically, however. Buffy had taken her aside to speak to her where the others wouldn't hear, and she wanted to know what was up.   
  
"I know, but if Spike isn't where I think he is, he could come back here, and I want you to make sure he knows what really happened, not what he might have thought - what it looked like - well, you know."  
  
"Okay, I can do that! Don't worry." Dawn gave her a reassuring smile. "So you're not still mad at him?"  
  
Buffy had to think that over. She was exasperated with him for jumping to conclusions, as he obviously had. After all, Riley was married now, apart from everything else, although come to think of it she wasn't sure Spike knew that. On the other hand, it gave her a fizzy feeling to know he even cared if she hugged Riley or not.   
  
"No," she said, finally committing herself. "But I'm pretty darn mad at Riley."  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
"What happened?" Mrs. Caprescu demanded as soon as she saw his face.   
  
"It's okay, love," Spike said. He saw her exchange a significant glance with her son.  
  
"Well, I'm gonna make sure we have enough chips and stuff," Clem said heartily, making for the kitchen.  
  
Spike moved around the living room, picking up ornaments and examining magazine covers, avoiding her gaze. She stood for a moment with her arms folded and watched him.   
  
"Spike, you had busy day. Sit down and I make you nice cup tea before others come," she said eventually.  
  
"Okay," he said, dropping into an armchair. He was a bit knackered; he had to admit it. His eyes wandered over the room; there was a yellow brick fireplace with a handsome mantel, a coffee table, and a sofa with two matching chairs all done in nubbly avocado green. The walls were hung with family pictures - so what if they weren't pictures of humans? The meaning was the same. There were even pictures of Clem as a baby (or kid, or cub, or whatever the proper term was). He'd always felt at home here, right from his first visit. In fact, it was just like his mum's sitting room, only not quite so full of knickknacks. Or Joyce's. It was a nice room. Peaceful.  
  
"Now drink tea," Mrs. C said, returning with a steaming mug. Just by the smell he could tell it was a good strong cuppa. Obediently, he took a swallow and felt instantly restored; it was strong and sweet, with plenty of milk. She sat beside him on the sofa.  
  
"You have fight with that girl again?"  
  
"No, nothing like that. That won't be happening anymore." He turned the mug around in his hands, watching the caramel-colored surface swirl. "Magda - when you lost Bela, were you angry? Did you want revenge?"  
  
She looked a bit taken aback; well, he shouldn't have brought up something so painful right out of the blue like that. He was about to apologize, but she put her hand on his arm (talons thoughtfully restrained, as always) and answered him.  
  
"Bela had friendly words for everybody - like Clem. With him it was always make good feelings, don't make bad feelings. So when they took him away, I did what he wanted, tried to make things better. I didn't feel like it, but I did it. Was better that way."   
  
"How could you face going on alone?"  
  
She thought for a moment. "It was hard. We were together long time," she said. "But I never was alone, Spike - I had my boy, family, neighbors, and friends like you. You're not alone, either."  
  
The doorbell rang. He roused himself; there was really no time to reflect on the meaning of life right now. Probably just as well.  
  
"That will be the gang arriving," he said.  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
Xander had regained some of his self-confidence... unfortunately.  
  
"So why are we here again?" he said.  
  
"If Spike and Clem have information about this Doctor - the REAL Doctor - maybe they can help us find Sam," Buffy said irritably. He was getting that tone in his voice again; what was it? Nagging? Whining? Hectoring, that was the word. And she was sick and tired of it. "You didn't have to come with us."  
  
"Hey, I gotta thank ol' Spikey for saving my life, don't I?"  
  
She gritted her teeth, and made no reply. But if he thought he was going to harass Spike in front of his friends, he had another think coming. And that went for Riley, too, though at least he'd been silent since they left the Magic Box. Possibly it had sunk in that she was not entirely pleased with him. She mounted the steps of number 99 and rang the bell.  
  
After a pause, the door opened and Spike stood in the entrance. He expressed no surprise at seeing them, or indeed any emotion. His eyes moved to Riley, looming behind her.   
  
"Better get Initiative Boy out of this neighborhood, Slayer," he said. "He's about as welcome as the plague 'round here."  
  
Naturally, Riley picked this juncture to come to life. "Listen, we didn't come here to socialize - you're going to tell us what you know whether you like it or not - " he began, oblivious to Buffy's expression of displeasure.   
  
Spike faced him impassively. "Really?" he said. "You might want to look behind you, Sergeant Rock."  
  
They looked. Emerging from the darkness were two identical, massive figures, with shaggy, horned heads and great dark eyes like - well, like cows. Or rather, bulls, Buffy decided. They moved forward with an indefinable suggestion of threat. She sighed. This didn't have to be a fight; in fact, she really wanted to avoid that. She looked up at Spike, seeking the right words.  
  
"Spike," she said quietly. He turned to her, his face still expressionless, his shoulders taut. How could she tell him she wasn't the enemy? She gazed at him searchingly for a moment, and somehow all at once knew what to say.   
  
"Spike, please," she said. "He needs your help."  
  
He looked away from her, his lips pressed together. Then he stood back from the door and, with a gesture, invited them in.  
  
  
TBC  
  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
  
"Onward! thro' baffled hope, thro' bootless prayer,  
With strength that sinks, with high task half begun,  
Things great desired, things lamentable done,  
Vows writ in water, blows that beat the air.  
On! I have guessed the end; the end is fair.  
Not with these weak limbs is thy last race run;  
Not all thy vision sets with this low sun;  
Not all thy spirit swoons in this despair.  
Look how thine own soul, throned where all is well,  
Smiles to regard thy days disconsolate;  
Yea; since herself she wove the worldly spell,  
Doomed thee for lofty gain to low estate;-  
Sown with thy fall a seed of glory fell;  
Thy heaven is in thee, and thy will thy fate."  
  
Frederick William Henry Myers 


	10. Deeds To Be Hid

Title: SAMARITAN  
Author: Ivytree  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc. Except Wally and Mrs. C. And maybe...  
Feedback: Please!  
Summary: Sequel to Grandpa; A soul makes everyday demands, and others a little more esoteric... and tougher still.  
Setting: The near future; say, September  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
  
SAMARITAN Pt. 10 Deeds To Be Hid  
  
  
"Right, here's the gen," Spike said, "This Doctor's been causing a lot of trouble. Rackets, kidnappings, murder, extortion, unexplained disappearances, the lot. And there's out of town badness, too, even international - least that's what I hear. So we're putting a stop to it."  
  
Buffy, Riley and Xander had gathered around Mrs. Caprescu's dining room table, where Spike spread out his augmented map. Buffy felt strangely equivocal; usually HER dining room table was the center of the action. Surprisingly, though, he seemed to know what he was doing, and she decided to listen and not interfere - for now.  
  
"We've got some info about the Doctor," Spike continued. "First, she is in fact a she; second, she's not human - at least not any more. Third, she binds her followers using a sort of thrall. We're trying to get hold of a minion now to see how it works."  
  
"That might be - that might be what happened to Sam," Riley said.   
  
"That's the little woman, is it?" Spike drawled, giving him a sharp glance. "How d'you know whatever it is happened in Sunnydale?"  
  
"We split up for a while when we were here - "  
  
"So I recall," Spike said dryly. Buffy felt herself flushing again, but fortunately no one was looking at her; all eyes were turned to Spike, including Riley's.  
  
"After that, at first she seemed normal, but then - things started happening. She'd disappear for hours with no reason, things like that. Couldn't explain where she'd been. Then suddenly she was gone."  
  
"How'd you know she came here?"  
  
Riley seemed nonplussed by this perfectly reasonable question. "You see, she - I - well, I was tracking her."  
  
Spike's eyes narrowed. "How?"  
  
Riley stared at the map, unblinking; with the fingers of his right hand he turned his wedding ring round and round. "I put a tracer on her."  
  
"One of your crafty little gadgets, eh? Good morning, Mr. Phelps. And she doesn't know?"  
  
"No," Riley acknowledged.  
  
Buffy gaped at him; even Xander looked startled.   
  
"You put a secret tracer on your own WIFE?" she exclaimed.  
  
"Why should he bother to tell her, Slayer?" Spike said, his eyes glinting. "It's not like she's human."  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
"Uh-oh," Clem said.   
  
While Spike had his unscheduled meeting with the humans, the demon conclave was briefly on hold. To pass the time, his mom had provided Abel and Abner with ice-cold root beer in the kitchen (Minotaurs were teetotalers) while he regaled them with suitably edited tales of Spike's exploits. Both young demons had a serious case of hero worship, and were happy to lap up stories about their idol indefinitely.   
  
They were all keeping alert to head off Eddie and Zevra, too, since Spike didn't want either one to unexpectedly come face to face with a roomful of humans, especially a former Initiative soldier. Clem hated to seem inhospitable, but he had to admit he wasn't too happy about having the guy in Pop's house, either.  
  
Nevertheless while he fetched more pretzels from the pantry (Minotaurs also ate a lot), Eddie, with the privilege of an old family friend, had come in the front door and was heading for the dining room unheeding.   
  
"Hey, guys," Clem called out to Abner and Abel, "Spike might need your - "   
  
Then they heard the screaming.  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
"What are you talking about?" Buffy demanded. "I don't believe you! Sam is human; I saw her!"  
  
"Think so?" Spike said, unmoved. "Ask Roger Ranger, there."  
  
"But I met her!" she said. "She was as normal as I - " Then she stopped short. Riley sat looking at the floor, his color heightened, his hands curled into loose fists, not saying a word. Again, he fingered his wedding ring, now with the thumb of his left hand. Buffy felt a little sick; obviously, Spike was right. Was any of Riley's story true? What was his real job? Who was he working for - and why did they have black helicopters?  
  
"So what kind of demon is she?" Spike went on, "Or don't you know?"  
  
"She's a hybrid," Riley said slowly. "Her mother was a Dendron."   
  
"So it works on some hybrids, not on others, this thrall thingy," Spike reflected. "Well, that'll be worth knowing when we go in."  
  
"Go in?" Xander said. "As in delve, reconnoiter, probe, suss out?"  
  
"As in. Our map covers the whole of beautiful Sunnyhell, below ground, and we've pinpointed the likely area for her digs, or lair, or whatever it is. We're going in to scout about."  
  
"I'm coming in with you," Buffy said instantly.  
  
"Sorry, Slayer, I don't think so," Spike replied with finality. "This is demon business, if you don't mind, and my associates wouldn't be too happy working alongside you lot. Especially the colossal Campfire Boy."  
  
"Hey, Buff, is this really our thing?" Xander said. "I mean, Spike seems to have it in hand, here."  
  
"This Doctor is an international, uh, evil-thing dealer, Xander - I think that's our business." Reminding herself to be tolerant, she strove to keep the sharpness out of her voice. She touched Spike's arm lightly.   
  
"We should work together on this," she said. "Sunnydale's my town, too; the Hellmouth is my responsibility. I can't just let you take on the Doctor yourselves."  
  
"Sorry, Slayer, it's no go. Even if - " As he looked past her to the doorway his eyes widened. "Bollocks!" he exclaimed, leaping to his feet just as a low-pitched howl filled the room.   
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
Abner and Abel rose as fast as their size allowed, and thundered toward the dining room. Clem ran after them and was just in time to see Eddie charge in through the other door and clamp his hands around the tall soldier's neck, bawling with rage. He saw both the other humans spring up from their chairs and stand back as Spike tackled Eddie, obviously trying not to hurt him - or let him kill anybody.   
  
At first Clem was apprehensive for Eddie's sake, considering who was in the house, but the Slayer made no move to slay anything; she stood there with a peculiar expression on her face. Xander looked like he was just sorry he'd gotten up so quickly, befuddled and a mite queasy. Oh, that's right - Clem remembered he'd been 'sick.' But neither rushed to Riley's defense. He didn't know what to make of it, but it wasn't what he would have expected, he knew that much.   
  
It just went to show Mom was right, as usual, he supposed.  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
"Eddie, no!" Spike bellowed, "Lads, get in here!"  
  
Two Minotaurs appeared out of nowhere, and Spike seized the green demon, whose froglike face wore an expression Buffy could only describe to herself as tormented, pulling him off Riley and across the room. She helped Riley up and then stood irresolute as the two Minotaurs helped Spike wrestle Eddie into a corner.   
  
"Eddie, no - take it easy," she heard Spike say in a low, urgent voice. He stood in front of Eddie, holding his shoulders and blocking his view of Riley. "Come on, mate, go on into the other room with Magda and the boys. They'll be gone soon, don't you worry."   
  
Ultimately, Eddie allowed himself to be led out, Abner and Abel towering on either side. Spike closed the door behind them, and stood for a moment with his head bent.  
  
"What was that all about?" Xander said.  
  
Spike ignored him. "I told you he wasn't welcome here, Slayer."  
  
"I - I don't even know the guy," Riley said, dazedly rubbing his throat.  
  
"No?" Spike said, his eyes like ice. "He knows you, though. Or possibly it's just the uniform. Possibly it wasn't you who dragged his wife out of her cell and cut her to pieces right in front of his eyes. Possibly you were absent that day."  
  
"Oh, my God," Buffy said, sinking into a chair.  
  
"What's the matter, Slayer? Did you think those nice, clean-cut boys only experimented on nasty, evil demons, not the peaceful, likable ones? Sorry to disillusion you."  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
"Holy cow, Eddie, I'm sorry," Clem said. "I meant to warn you."  
  
Eddie sat at the kitchen table, still grimacing and breathing heavily, with the boys standing protectively behind him. Mrs. Caprescu patted his massive shoulder and handed him a glass of Romanian brandy without comment.  
  
"I never thought I'd see any of those soldier types again," Eddie rasped. "It caught me by surprise. I apologize, Magda; he's your guest."  
  
"Well, gosh, it's not like he was invited," Clem said with uncharacteristic resentment. "They just showed up."  
  
"Clem - never mind." Mrs. C responded. "Eddie, for what it's worth, I think they help us this time."  
  
"I don't know why Spike trusts that Slayer girl," Eddie complained, rubbing a hand over his hairless head. "She seems just as human as the rest of them."   
  
Clem exchanged a glance with his mom. He felt rather burdened by his knowledge of Spike's relationship with the Slayer these days.  
  
"Well, she hasn't actually killed him yet," he pointed out.   
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
"I'll ask you all to kindly bugger off now," Spike said firmly, shepherding them into the hallway. "I've got some more friends coming by who wouldn't fancy seeing Grunt Boy, here. Unless you WANT him strangled."  
  
It was a tempting offer at this point, but what Buffy really wanted was to go home, have a hot shower, and close her bedroom door on this whole mess; and the sooner she saw the backs of Xander and Riley for tonight, the better, too. Between them, they'd just about grated her last nerve with their really unprecedented mixture of belligerence and whining.   
  
As they reached the front door, she said, "Spike, I wish you'd just - "  
  
"Oh, damn and blast!" he said, looking past her down the long hall to the kitchen. "Slayer, get him out now!"  
  
"What?" she said, following his gaze. She saw a gorgeous black-skinned female demon with a mane of white hair staring at the group by the door, her face bleak. "Who's - ?" Belatedly, she realized that the girl - woman - creature - she-demon - held a spear, and that she was raising it.  
  
"Out, now!" Spike wrenched the door open and thrust Riley out, followed closely by a permanently confused Xander.   
  
Now they were right back where they started, on Mrs. Caprescu's doorstep with Spike holding the door. Riley and Xander turned toward the car, but Buffy stopped for a moment.  
  
"She seemed pretty - well, homicidal," she said. "Are you sure she's not dangerous?"  
  
"She's more dangerous than you can possibly imagine, especially to Finn," he answered, his countenance somber. "And so would any of her sisters be. She's an Amazon, Slayer. Knows how to hold a grudge."  
  
"So what do THEY have against the Initiative?" She was getting tired of being on the wrong side.  
  
He took a deep breath, not looking at her.   
  
"Use your loaf, Slayer; what d'you think happens to a girl like that in a compound full of enemy soldiers?" he said quietly.   
  
She turned stricken eyes to him, but he bowed his head and didn't - couldn't - meet them.  
  
"Are you telling me Riley - ?" She felt she might believe anything at this point.  
  
"I don't know," he said. "No. But he must've known about it. Remember," and now he did look up, "we're only animals to him."  
  
"Spike..." she began sadly, and couldn't think of anything else to say. Why did she feel comforted just being here with him, and dread walking down those steps to join her human companions?   
  
"Spike," she heard Riley say. He'd returned to the bottom of the stoop and looked up at them with haunted eyes. "Please - whatever I did, whatever I've been - it's not Sam's fault. Please. She doesn't deserve this."  
  
"I know," Spike said.   
  
Without waiting for a reply, Riley trudged away to join Xander by the car.   
  
"Meet me round the Magic Box tomorrow, if that's convenient, Slayer," Spike said. "We'll find the girl, all right."  
  
  
TBC  
  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
  
"Thirst of revenge, the powerless will  
Still baffled, and yet burning still!  
Desire with loathing strangely mixed  
On wild or hateful objects fixed.  
Fantastic passions! maddening brawl!  
And shame and terror over all!  
Deeds to be hid which were not hid,  
Which all confused I could not know  
Whether I suffered, or I did:  
For all seemed guilt, remorse or woe,  
My own or others still the same  
Life-stifling fear, soul-stifling shame."  
  
Samuel Taylor Coleridge 


	11. In the Solitude Singing

Title: SAMARITAN  
Author: Ivytree  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc. Except Wally and Mrs. C. And maybe...  
Feedback: Please!  
Summary: Sequel to Grandpa; A soul makes everyday demands, and others a little more esoteric... and tougher still.  
Setting: The near future; say, September  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
  
SAMARITAN Pt. 11 In the Solitude Singing   
  
  
"I'll kill that one if I see him again." Zevra paused for a moment on the way out the door, her face grim. The demons had agreed to reconvene the next evening to compare notes, and, hopefully, prisoners.   
  
"No worries, love; I'll keep him out of your way," Spike said. "But he's here to rescue his wife, you know - "   
  
Zevvie snorted. Amazons didn't believe in marriage.  
  
" - and she's half Dendron. Could be he's not as bad as the rest, after all."  
  
"They're all the same," she said bleakly, striding out.   
  
Spike stood in the doorway for a moment after she left, not really seeing the street, and fingering his sleeve where Buffy had touched him.   
  
They'd been sitting at the table, talking business, and she'd leaned forward and put her hand on his arm like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like she didn't loathe the sight of him. He could still feel her hot little fingers burning him through the fabric. If he'd ever wondered if her touch was still electrifying after all these months, now he knew. Of course, he never had wondered.  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
"That went well, all things considered," Clem said when Spike joined him in the kitchen.   
  
"If that git gets through this little visit to Sunnydale with only one attempt at vengeance, he'll be lucky," Spike said acidly. "Fortunately, that's not our problem. Grabbing our minion and figuring out this bleeding thrall, those are our problems. Seems like the spell or whatever works on some demon hybrids but not others, like vamps. And we know it works on pure demons."  
  
"Better stay out of her clutches, that's all," Clem said.   
  
"No, I don't want to risk anybody getting captured." Still stroking his sleeve, Spike absently drank a mug of foamy root beer. "We need reinforcements."  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
He was on top of her, and she ran her hands up his smooth, powerful back, pressing him close, her eyes closed. She felt his lips touch her throat, cool and soft, and his silken hair rub against her cheek; she heard him gasp as she moved. It was dark and safe in his arms, and warm - though never too warm. She pressed her face against his shoulder -  
  
- And woke to staccato knocking.  
  
"Buffy!" It was Dawn's voice. "Aren't you up yet? Don't you want to go to Anya's this morning?"  
  
Buffy felt the sting of tears starting, and flung her arm across her eyes for a moment. She didn't want to see brilliant sunlight right now, or hear birds tweeting in brainless happiness; if only she could have that beautiful darkness back, just for a few more minutes.  
  
But she knew she had to answer.   
  
"Okay, Dawnie, I'll be right down," she said.  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
"I do have books that mention thrall," Anya said. "Up there, Dawn, on the second shelf down, at the far end."  
  
"Okay," Dawn said, starting up the library ladder to fetch them, happy to be an official part of Spike's project.   
  
As she climbed, Anya turned to Buffy.  
  
"Is everything okay?" she said, in a lowered voice. "You seem sad."  
  
Feeling herself blush, Buffy bent her head. Why did love always make you feel like such a fool? Oh, God. "When we saw Spike last night there was this girl demon there."  
  
"Was she pretty?" Anya said, striking right to the heart of the matter, as usual.   
  
"Gorgeous!" Buffy burst out, "she had black skin and beautiful white hair, and this fabulous figure - I mean, J-Lo fabulous. You know - curvy. And you could really see it, too; she wasn't exactly wearing a lot. Spike said she's an Amazon."  
  
"Hmmm. Must be a Zantip Amazon. Well," Anya said practically, "they have no objection to, you know, flings, but they don't believe in permanent mating, if that's any consolation."  
  
Buffy sighed. It really wasn't. Funny how she could talk about flings with Anya without angst; but that was different. She knew Anya didn't want Spike for herself.   
  
"And not only that, I found out some things - well, that I wish I hadn't."  
  
"Not about Spike?" Dawn said anxiously. Drat! She'd been so busy conferring with Anya that she hadn't noticed Dawn come back with the reference books. She didn't mean to tell her sister about the worryingly attractive Amazon; she hadn't sunk THAT low. Yet.  
  
"No, not about Spike at all. About Riley, in fact, and the Initiative. And Sam. Riley lied to me - a lot."  
  
"Humph." Dawn was unimpressed. "I could've told you that. I don't see how you could have swallowed that 'Spike is an international arms dealer' stuff; he doesn't even have a phone."  
  
"I didn't think Riley would lie," Buffy said glumly, pushing her hair back with both hands. "I wonder if he ever told the truth about anything, now."   
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
The three girls sat around Anya's makeshift table (she had a new, improved model on order for the grand re-opening) skimming reference books and marking anything useful with post-it notes. It was boring, but they all wanted to help Spike out, and tacitly agreed to do it without involving Xander or Riley. Or, as Anya put it, 'we don't need any stupid men.' Buffy wished, though, and not for the first time, that Giles were here; as research girl, she was pretty sure she sucked. But what else could they do?  
  
They'd been at it for a couple of hours, and already downed innumerable Diet Cokes, when the shop bell rang. All three faces turned, blinking, towards the door.  
  
In the entrance stood two people none of them had ever seen before, and after a blank moment Buffy realized who it must be and sprang up to greet them.  
  
"Hi! Come on in - you must be Gunn, and you must be Fred!" she said. "Welcome! I've heard so much about you!"  
  
"Thanks, I think." Laughing, Gunn shook her hand. "And I'm guessing you are Buffy, the Vampire Slayer."  
  
"It's so nice to meet you!" Fred said, beaming. "We've heard a lot about you, too! Well, not from Spike - or from Angel, for that matter - but we have, anyway! Is he here?"  
  
"Spike should be here anytime now," Buffy said, untangling this without difficulty; she felt she was getting the hang of Fred. She led them down to the main store area. "This is Anya, the owner of the Magic Box, and my sister, Dawn."  
  
"Hi! This shop is great," Fred said, looking around, "you have so many hard-to-find things! Basilisk scales! And Cimmerian sand! You wouldn't have Rhine Pearls, would you? 'Cause I couldn't find a one in LA."  
  
"Thank you very much, I'm glad you like it! I do have the pearls, right over here," Anya said proudly, showing Fred a display case. "I have all summoning objects in this area - "  
  
"She's a live-wire, isn't she?" Buffy said, smiling at Gunn. "We weren't expecting you guys."  
  
"Spike called last night. We've got to talk to him, and this Initiative guy, too. There's some bad stuff going down; we dug up some pretty scary information about what those boys are doing now."  
  
"They're not working for any government agency, are they?" Buffy said.  
  
"No way in hell, to put it bluntly. At least no government we know about."  
  
They were distracted when the bell rang again. It was Spike.   
  
Before anyone had a chance to say anything, Fred streaked across the room and threw her arms around him, and Buffy watched his face light up in a way she'd never seen before. He lifted Fred up and swung her around in an ecstatic half-circle.  
  
"I'm so glad to see you!" Fred said. "Are you okay? Did you ever get all warmed up again? What did you do with Captain Jack's shirt? How did you like the boat, wasn't it great?"  
  
"Hello, darlin,'" he said. "I love the boat; it's in a place of honor in my parlor. Right over the telly."  
  
Buffy glanced toward Anya and Dawn, who had moved to stand beside her, and observed a singular expression on both their faces. She knew just what that expression meant, because she knew her own face wore it, too - it meant 'hey, strange girl, hands off my vampire!'  
  
"Wait a minute, man, I think that belongs to me," Gunn said.   
  
"Special delivery package for Mr. Gunn." Spike handed Fred over and shook hands. "That was quick, mate."   
  
"Yeah, well, we picked up some info that really needs confirming. We need to talk to this Initiative guy ASAP."  
  
"They're both at Harris's flat, right, Slayer?" Spike said - finally looking at her, but in a purely professional manner. "I can take you to him, but after that he's all yours. I DON'T need to talk to the giant nitwit again, thank you very much."  
  
"Great - sooner we get started, the better; my van is completely vamp-friendly, blackout windows and everything - not that the Big Guy ever uses it. Prefers his own wheels."  
  
"Can you give 'em a call to say we're coming, Slayer? I'll drop these two shamuses off and meet you back here in twenty minutes, if that's all right."  
  
"Okay. I'll be waiting." She said, with composure; she could almost hear Anya's mental 'atta girl.'  
  
"It was so great to finally meet all of you," Fred said warmly.   
  
As they moved toward the door, Gunn said, "Shamuses?"  
  
"That's what you lot are, isn't it?" she heard Spike reply. "You're lucky I didn't say dicks."  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
Buffy sat down at the table and opened a particularly grubby volume, turning over ancient, musty-smelling pages that threatened to crumble beneath her fingers, and wondered if she was even able to talk to Spike alone without saying something stupid. Since he came back her record on tact wasn't exactly impressive. Or before he left, for that matter.  
  
She didn't need to ask herself why anymore; she knew why. And, judging from Dawn and Anya's reactions, they knew, too. How long had she been in love with him? Always? Why had she been so blind? So dishonest? And how could she have been so - so cruel?   
  
She knew what she'd done. Something had clicked into place the very first time she saw that jaunty figure and that bleached head gleaming against the darkness, as if she'd always expected him and there he was. Right from the beginning she'd known him so well. She spotted his weak point, the chink in his armor, the minute she saw him, fearsome as he appeared.   
  
It was always love.   
  
She'd told herself over and over that he couldn't love, but she knew it wasn't true; his love for Drusilla had allowed her to defeat him again and again. Then when she learned of his love for her - when he'd proved his love for her - she finally used that against him, too, as surely as if she had planned all along to annihilate him with it. Looking back, she didn't see how she could have hurt him more. Lucky for him he left when he did, really. Loving her was a sure formula for destruction.   
  
"Well, they seemed nice," Anya said brightly after a few minutes, startling her out of her gloom. "Dawn, would you like to help me, uh, count some inventory downstairs?"  
  
"Eeew, no, that's the most bori - I mean, sure, that'd be great," Dawn replied, responding with aplomb to an elbow in the ribs.  
  
As they started downstairs, Buffy clearly heard Anya whisper, "We should leave your sister alone with Spike, you know."  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
Buffy tried to make sense of the page she was reading. But soon - before she was ready - the bell over the shop door jingled again, and she jumped. Almost apprehensively, she looked toward the entrance.   
  
Angel stood awkwardly on the step.   
  
"Hey," he said. Well. She probably should have expected that.  
  
"Come on in," she said. "I'd say I'm surprised to see you, but so much has happened in the last few days that I can't even feel it anymore. How are you?"  
  
"Okay," he said. That was Angel all over, she thought irritably; Mr. Communication. (You never had to pry SPIKE'S feelings out of him with a crowbar.) He didn't look okay; he looked thin and strained, and somehow shadowed. She found that something inside her still cared if he was unhappy, and she wanted to make him feel welcome, though she didn't suppose offering him a Diet Coke would do it. Angel never was much of a one for people food.   
  
"Come in and sit down. I'm sorry about what happened, with you and - and Spike," she went on, in sympathetic tone. He came down the steps toward her. "I mean, I heard about it. He told us."  
  
"He did? Well, then you know what I owe him - everything, I guess," he said, smiling faintly for the first time. "I'm lucky he was there to help."  
  
"It must feel sort of weird to say that." Sure she was fishing shamelessly. But she didn't care. If he could give her a clue about why Spike was acting this way, as Dawn had put it -  
  
"Believe me, it does." Angel smiled again, but rather stiffly, as though he weren't quite used to doing it anymore; but he seemed a little more at ease, and sat down beside her at the research table. "As a matter of fact, I know it sounds stupid, but - well, I'm kind of proud of him."  
  
"You're proud of Spike?"  
  
"You know, what he's going through. He's sure handling it a lot better than I did - the whole soul thing. I guess I must be the only one who really knows how hard it - Buffy? Buffy, are you okay?"  
  
  
TBC  
  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
  
"From the wreck of the past, which hath perish'd,  
Thus much I at least may recall,  
It hath taught me that what I most cherish'd  
Deserved to be dearest of all:  
In the desert a fountain is springing,  
In the wide waste there still is a tree,  
And a bird in the solitude singing,  
Which speaks to my spirit of thee."  
  
George Gordon, Lord Byron 


	12. My Heart Where It Glows

Title: SAMARITAN  
Author: Ivytree  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc. Except Wally and Mrs. C. And maybe...  
Feedback: Please!  
Summary: Sequel to Grandpa; A soul makes everyday demands, and others a little more esoteric... and tougher still.  
Setting: The near future; say, September  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
  
SAMARITAN Pt. 12 My Heart Where It Glows   
  
  
"I'm okay." Buffy could hardly hear her own voice; there was a sound in her ears like buffeting wind. "I'm okay."  
  
"Are you sure? You suddenly went white, like - " Angel stopped himself before finishing that sentence. "Was it something I said?"  
  
"Spike - " Her own voice sounded thin and distant.   
  
It was impossible; she couldn't have heard him right.  
  
"Did you say - Spike has a soul?"   
  
"Oh, jeez," Angel said, looking sheepish. Dark and broody, but sheepish. "I thought he told you. And he did ask me not to say anything - I'm sorry, Buffy, I thought you knew."  
  
Spike had a soul. Spike had a soul. Spike had a soul.   
  
How? When? Where? Why?  
  
She gripped the edge of the table. "What did he do, antagonize some Gypsies, or something?"  
  
"That's what I said," Angel said with a faint, reluctant grin. "No, he - apparently he sought it and achieved it, somehow. I'm not clear on the details."   
  
"He sought it?" She stared at him. "Can you even DO that?"  
  
"I wouldn't have thought so; the price must be - well, unimaginable. But you know Spike. He never quits when he's after something."  
  
Right, I know Spike, and I never even noticed, she thought. Just how self-absorbed am I? Oh, God, don't let him come in right now. How can I look him in the eye? I never even NOTICED.  
  
"Sorry if I gave you a shock." Angel looked at her, his brow creased in concern. "You okay now?"  
  
"It's just that - well, the only OTHER vampire with a soul is you, right?" Her voice quavered a bit. "Isn't it?"  
  
"I sure never heard of anyone doing anything like this before. But - you know, it's Spike," he said, as if that explained everything. Which of course it did.   
  
Buffy thought if she could just sit here very, very quietly for a couple of hours, without anyone saying anything to her, maybe her brain would get over its total lockdown and actually start to work again. And Angel should stay here, too, because if he went away she might begin to think she really had gone completely insane. Very, very quietly. Just for a couple of hours.  
  
But instead the bell rang, and there he was.  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
Spike paused on the top step, wearing an expression of mild inquiry. This time she looked at him, really looked at him. As always - even now - he was all in black, boots, jeans, shirt, and a rather handsome suede jacket. She noticed for the first time that his hair was a bit longer, a bit darker around the roots, and a bit wavier than she remembered, and excoriated herself again for weeks of willful blindness. His eyes were just as blue, but was there a new light behind them? She couldn't tell. Perhaps there had always been light when he looked at her, at least in the days when he loved her.  
  
He came towards them with a touch of swagger in the swing of his shoulders, despite what he must have been through. No moping in a corner for Spike! Where could he have gone, what on earth could he have done, to win a soul? What strength he had! Oh, God, now she could see her own bosom heaving as if she were the heroine of romance novel. Calm, rational Buffy, that's what she needed to be. Professional Buffy. Don't let him see anything was different -   
  
Of course, he didn't even look at her.  
  
"'Lo, Peaches," he said, smirking at Angel's irritation; some things never changed. Someday she'd have to ask one of them about that nickname. "What kept you?"  
  
"I had some things to take care of. Gunn and Fred get here?"  
  
"I took 'em over to the Gigantic Cub Scout's hideout - and I do mean hideout, in this town."  
  
"Not so much of a cub scout as we thought, it turns out."  
  
"Well, color me surprised. Or not," Spike said sardonically. "I never liked that prat."  
  
"Me either," Angel said. They shared a look that said pretty clearly, women, what can you do, but Buffy was still too dazed to resent it.   
  
"I've got to fill the Slayer in on the Doctor," Spike said. "Maps and everything. You want to go over there and put the arm on the git?"  
  
"I don't mind if I do," Angel replied. "What's the address? I'll find it; I used to live here, you know."  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
Buffy managed to pull herself together enough to see Angel off at the door.  
  
"Don't tell him you told me, okay?" she said.  
  
"Well, I wasn't supposed to say anything, anyway," he said, opening the door of his Plymouth.  
  
"A convertible? You drove from LA to Sunnydale in a convertible?" She folded her arms. "You know, I think you've got a lot more in common with Spike than I realized."  
  
Angel just smiled crookedly and got in. "See you later," he said.  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
After a moment's thought she turned and reentered the shop. Spike stood by the table leafing through a reference book; he paused, but didn't look up as she approached.   
  
"Hi," she said. "So you wanna show me the map?"  
  
"Slayer." He spoke slowly, as if he couldn't find the right words. "I - I'm sorry about Soldier Boy. I mean, I didn't want you to find out that way." Then he finally did meet her eyes, briefly. "Not like before."  
  
"I never thought you did," she said. "I know you wouldn't do that."  
  
"And I meant to tell you Angel was coming - I know it upset you," he went on doggedly. "I'm sorry."  
  
"That's okay." So that's what he thought she was upset about?  
  
She moved closer, placing her hand on his arm, and saw a quiver run through him. He lightly caressed the back of her hand with cool fingers but heat seemed to wash over her skin where he touched her. If she'd ever wondered if his touch would still thrill her after all this time, she knew the answer now. Of course, she never had wondered.   
  
"Spike," she said softly, "Why - "  
  
They were startled by shrill screams from the shop's basement. It was Dawn's voice.  
  
"Buffy, Buffy, Buffy!"   
  
"Bloody hell!" Spike said.  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
They clattered down the stairs, all other considerations forgotten.  
  
"Dawn!" Spike called.  
  
"Over here!" They heard Anya's voice from the farthest corner. Dodging across the room between storage units, they found her kneeling beside Dawn, who sprawled on the floor.   
  
"Dawnie, are you okay?" Buffy cried.  
  
"What happened, Niblet? Are you hurt?" Spike knelt down and took her hand.   
  
"Don't everybody fuss!" Dawn said irritably, struggling to sit up. "I just tripped chasing that demon."  
  
Buffy and Spike shared a glance.  
  
"Maybe she's got a concussion," Buffy suggested.  
  
"No, no!" Dawn insisted. "There was a demon! It was prowling around down here and we surprised it."  
  
"Then where is it now, Little Bit?" Spike said.  
  
"Look over here." Anya pushed a shelving unit well away from the corner, and they saw that a new passageway had been cut through the wall, obviously leading to the Sunnydale underground.   
  
"Bugger!" Spike said.   
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
Anya and Dawn flatly refused to be left behind, so all four followed the "minion-y looking" demon, as Anya described it, together. The girls carried flashlights, provided by the ever-practical Anya. Every now and then the faint echo of what could have been a footfall was heard, and everyone stopped short to listen, but they never saw the creature they pursued. Their lights flashed off rough-hewn walls apparently dug out of the bedrock of Sunnydale; then those passages connected with others, and they moved on through stretches of what seemed to be unremarkable service tunnels, now unused. Eventually they came to an opening into another basement area half blocked by debris, possibly from the last earthquake.   
  
"Where the heck are we?" Buffy said, shining hers around the room. "I got all turned around."  
  
"Must be several streets away by now." Spike examined a pile of rubble. "Not quite sure what we're under, though."  
  
"Look - through that hole in the wall there's another tunnel," Dawn said. "Is that a light?"  
  
"Where?"  
  
"Down there, see? Around the corner."  
  
Spike gave Buffy a significant look.   
  
"Trap," she said.  
  
"Only one thing to do with a trap - " Spike's tone was insinuating.  
  
"Head right into it," she agreed. "It's in the superhero handbook."  
  
"Page 12," he added. They grinned happily at each other. After the emotional turmoil of the last few days, a nice, lively bout of violence sounded all too tempting. However -  
  
"You two stay here," Buffy said firmly to Anya and Dawn. "We're just going to look around a little - nothing exciting's gonna happen."  
  
"And if you happen to hear anything exciting happening, you scurry on back to the Magic Box and lock the cellar door, and call the Poof at Xander's right away, understood?"  
  
"I don't see what we need him for." Dawn hunched a shoulder, and, for good measure, gave him the patented Summers pouty lip.   
  
"I mean it, Niblet!"  
  
"Don't worry, we won't take chances that put the enterprise at risk," Anya said, putting her arm around Dawn. "We know better than that."  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
They picked their way along the corridor toward a very faint yellowish light at least a hundred yards away, stepping stealthily over fallen plasterboard and broken chunks of cement. They had passed into what was clearly part of a building. Even in the darkness, something nagged at the edge of Buffy's consciousness, but she couldn't quite pin it down. Something about the way the floor felt underfoot.  
  
"You know, this is sort of familiar to me," she murmured very quietly, knowing Spike's ears would pick up the slightest sound.  
  
"Well, you've been romping around down here for years now, haven't you, love?" he whispered back. "Probably been past this spot a dozen times before."  
  
"I don't think that's it," she said. "Is that tile on the wall over there?"   
  
Impulsively, she sped across to an unbroken patch of wall about ten feet away.   
  
"Look at this pillar!" she said excitedly. "Isn't this - "  
  
Suddenly there was a clamorous wrenching noise; the pillar began to crack, and hand-size chunks of plaster rained down.   
  
"Buffy, look out!" But he was too late.  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
Anya and Dawn heard the crash, and saw billows of plaster dust puff down the corridor from the direction Buffy and Spike had taken. More frightening still, they suddenly heard a full-throated demonic roar echoing down the passageway. They looked at each other for a moment, and without a word turned and ran toward the sound.  
  
They slowed on reaching a mound of rubble nearly ceiling high blocking the way. Clambering up, Anya balanced herself at the top and aimed her flashlight down to where the corridor opened into a room, the beam glinting of half-tiled walls.  
  
Dawn scrambled up beside her, and saw Spike, fully vamped out and howling, frantically heaving great blocks of masonry, wood and plaster aside. At first she couldn't figure out what he was doing, or where her sister had gotten to - but then she saw one of Buffy's boots protruding from beneath the debris. And it wasn't moving.  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
Buffy, Buffy, Buffy, was all that ran through Spike's mind. Her heartbeat was rapid but still strong. He knew she was alive, but for how much longer? Could she breathe under there? He heard a distant roaring as his taloned hands scrabbled through the heap of shattered building materials with preternatural strength and speed, snatching fragments of ceiling and pillar up and tossing them forcefully aside.   
  
At last he could see her; she lay face down, covered with dust and bits of wreckage. With a mighty thrust he cleared enough space so he could kneel beside her, and extended a hand to feel for broken bones - and saw the claws of a demon. Impatiently, he shook himself back to human form. Then, taking a deep breath, he felt with gentle fingers along her spine and neck; everything seemed normal. She was breathing, and her heart was strong, though there was blood on her hair.   
  
He sat back on his heels for a moment, trembling and willing himself to be calm. As he regained control, he heard Dawn sobbing in fear.  
  
"She's all right, Niblet," he called. "Just knocked out, is all."  
  
"Can we help?" That was Anya's voice. Practical girl.  
  
"Keep watch while I dig her out, and let me know if you hear anything," he replied. "Then we'll get the bloody hell out of here."  
  
Buffy began to stir as he brushed the last of the plaster scraps away. With care, he slipped one arm around her and turned her over on her back. A trickle of blood ran down from a bad bump on her forehead and her hands and arms were bruised and scratched. She moaned a little.  
  
"Shh, love," he said, pushing her dusty, tangled hair off her face. "Wake up, Buffy. Wake up now, love."  
  
A hush seemed to fall over the chamber. Holding her slight body against him, watching for signs of awareness, he felt a low, rhythmic thrumming, quick and powerful, which seemed to emanate from everywhere at once, from the floor beneath them, from the air, from his own flesh. The urgent pulse called to his blood, rousing and strengthening him. After a few moments he realized what it was - Buffy's heart. He heard its beat everywhere.  
  
She murmured something, and frowned. Her hand crept up his arm, sliding from forearm to shoulder, where her strong fingers gripped him, and she opened her eyes.  
  
"Spike," she whispered.  
  
His whole body shook with the pounding of her heart. Her eyes were deep and luminous, the brown-gold color of pebbles at the bottom of a sunlit stream. He couldn't look away, but he could hardly bear to believe what he saw there. Warmth. Forgiveness. Love.  
  
He saw love.  
  
Buffy's hand moved upward, deliberately caressing his cheek; with a gasp, he turned his face to her palm. Then he felt an insistent little tug, and she drew his head down for a kiss.  
  
  
TBC  
  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
  
"A diamond is burning  
In depths of the lone,  
Thy spirit returning  
May claim for its throne.  
In flame-fringed islands  
Its sorrow shall cease,  
Absorbed in the silence  
And quenched in the peace.  
Come lay thy poor head on  
My heart where it glows  
With love ruby-red on  
Thy heart for its woes.  
My power I surrender;  
To thee it is due.  
Come forth! for the splendour  
Is waiting for you."  
  
George Russell ("A. E.") 


	13. And Still To Be

Title: SAMARITAN  
Author: Ivytree  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc. Except Wally and Mrs. C. And maybe...  
Feedback: Please!  
Summary: Sequel to Grandpa; A soul makes everyday demands, and others a little more esoteric... and tougher still.  
Setting: The near future; say, September  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
  
SAMARITAN Pt. 13 And Still To Be  
  
  
He stood in the dark hallway, looming and preternaturally silent.  
  
"Invite me in, Xander," he said, a glint in his shadowed eyes that might have been humorous. Or not.  
  
"Uh - " Xander's mouth was dry, and he had to swallow before getting any words out at all. "Come in, Angel. Welcome to my humble, etc." Then he opened the door wide to the last person in the world he ever wanted to meet up with again.  
  
"Good to see you, too, old pal," Angel said. "Nice place you've got here."  
  
Xander didn't know why he was sweating so much; possibly it was the tail end of the most stunning hangover he'd ever experienced. His brain just didn't seem to work right, either. It was all so weird. Spike purportedly saving him from vampires. (But was that true? Really, after all that happened, could they trust Spike's word?) And what was all this stuff about Riley? That couldn't be true, it just couldn't. Riley must have been under some kind of thrall or compulsion or something, because if anybody had it together, it was him. Wasn't it? Though he didn't deny what they'd been saying. And now these two strangers showed up and seemed to know all about those things, and more, and Buffy told him to let them in because they worked with Angel. Who was suddenly back.   
  
Angel, his coat billowing about him, strolled past Xander toward the group seated around the dining table, nodding to Fred and Gunn. What is it with us and dining tables? Xander thought. We get our best ideas sitting around them - and our worst. A shiver crept down his spine as he remembered sitting right where Gunn sat now, planning for Buffy's resurrection with Willow and Tara. And Anya.  
  
He trailed after Angel, wishing he were somewhere else. He saw Riley's eyes widen, and his breathing quicken. Sheesh, the guy was supposed to be a big demon hunter - didn't he know enough not to show fear?   
  
Noiselessly, deliberately, like a cat approaching a hapless mouse, Angel moved closer and closer to Riley until he stood right beside his chair, forcing him to look up.   
  
"Riley Finn," he said. "You know, I didn't expect to see you back in Sunnydale."  
  
"Same - " Riley cleared his throat. "Same here."  
  
"Oh, but I have ties to the community," Angel said. Was that mockery in his voice? What was he intending to do, anyway? "Ties of friendship," Angel went on. "Family ties."  
  
"I just came back for help," Riley said, showing some guts at least.   
  
"And I guess you figured everyone still believed the lies you told. The set-up you engineered."  
  
"Set up? What's that supposed to mean?" Xander couldn't help interrupting. This was a real, live guy against a - well, a not-live guy, after all. He had to side with the live guy.  
  
"He knows what I mean," Angel said, not taking his eyes from Riley's.   
  
"I was just trying to get Buffy out of a bad situation," Riley said.  
  
"You know, Finn, I never liked you. I always figured you had secrets. But I didn't figure you for a deliberate murderer. How do you think Buffy would have felt if you'd done what you wanted, and she found out afterwards you were lying about the Doctor, about everything?"  
  
"Murder! What are you talking about?" Xander exclaimed.  
  
"It wouldn't be murder! He's not even - " Riley stopped himself.  
  
"Human?" With a move so swift it was impossible to follow, Angel seized his shirtfront and jerked him to his feet. "Gee, Finn, maybe nobody told you. Neither am I."  
  
"Hey!" Xander protested feebly.  
  
"And you know how you Initiative guys put that chip in Spike's head, so he can't defend himself from the likes of you?" Angel smiled. It wasn't a pleasant smile. "There's no chip in MY head."  
  
There was a moment of absolute silence. Xander gulped. He'd sort of forgotten that part.  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
Her hands moved over his shoulders, his arms, his hair; his lips were cool and silky, just as she remembered, first gentle, then urgent, then soft and tender. At last - too soon - she was forced to break away to pant for breath, holding his face between her hands and looking again into his eyes. And when she looked, she knew, and tears spilled down her cheeks.  
  
"Buffy," Spike whispered, "what are you doing?"  
  
"I thought you didn't love me anymore," she said baldly, unable to keep her lip from trembling. To hell with reticence.  
  
"Oh, sweetheart, no!" he exclaimed, with another fervent kiss. "No, no, no! That could never happen, never."  
  
Again she drew away for a moment. "I'm so sorry for everything - " another kiss, "I hurt you so much," and another, "it's all my fault."  
  
"Buffy, no," kissing her again, "not your fault, mine."  
  
She dove into his embrace, and again knew nothing but him and the darkness, his steely arms pressing her closer and closer as she clutched at his shoulders, his cheek, rough and smooth, his eager mouth seeking hers.   
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
Perched beside Anya atop a mound of rubble and viewing the scene below them, Dawn uttered a happy squeak, and clutched Anya's hand, receiving a warm smile in return. She KNEW this would happen eventually, she just knew it. And it was all because of her - if she hadn't chased that demon they wouldn't be here at all. Of course, that wasn't entirely of the good, because they were sort of trapped, but still.   
  
She and Anya politely turned their flashlights away for a few minutes, hearing nothing but broken murmurs interspersed with fervid gasps from their two companions. However, it was beginning to look like they'd better go soon.  
  
"Uh - guys?" Dawn called. She saw something unsettling at the far end of the corridor. Something that moved.  
  
"Please excuse the interruption," Anya said in a calm, clear tone, "but I think there's a monster coming this way."  
  
They heard scrabbling in the darkness, and turned their flashlights to the floor below them again. Spike was helping Buffy up.   
  
"All right now, love?"  
  
"Sure," she said, clinging tightly to his hands, "I'm not hurt. Just sort of dusty."  
  
"Why don't you two ladies join us?" Spike said. "If we lure the whatsit down here, Slayer and I can dispose of it."  
  
"What about the ceiling falling on us?" Dawn said nervously.  
  
"That was just a loose bit - most of it's still sound." He kicked the wall to demonstrate. "See? Better that than a beastie, anyway. Come on, Niblet, hop it - it's getting close."  
  
There was definitely a sound coming their way, though it was more of a deep grumble than a roar. "It doesn't sound too mad, just sort of cranky," she suggested hopefully.  
  
"Nevertheless," Spike said.  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
Spike, Buffy, Anya and Dawn hid themselves in a shadowy corridor, waiting for whatever it was to come. It had reached the pile of debris blocking the passage, and Buffy heard it clambering up, sending showers of dust and rubble tumbling to the floor, still muttering to itself in a low, resonant growl.   
  
The creature made it to the top and slid clumsily to the floor, landing in a heap of over-muscled limbs; rather proud of herself for doing so, she recognized it as a Fyarl, its great horns a black silhouette in the dim light. It crouched in a defensive posture, swinging its head around in a half-circle, sniffing.   
  
"Grrwaol, grrwaol, grrwaol, Grak," the Fyarl mumbled to itself.  
  
Buffy tugged on Spike's hand, still clasping hers.   
  
"We should split up and trap it between us," she whispered.   
  
His head was cocked at an angle; he was listening.   
  
"Wait a minute," he whispered, "I think I can - its name is Grak."  
  
"You understand Fyarl?" Anya said, looking impressed. "That's a very difficult language. No pronouns."  
  
"It's enthralled, all right; it's been ordered to catch us. Well, to catch you, Slayer."  
  
Buffy snorted. "They'll have to do better than one lousy Fyarl to do that," she said. "We could catch IT, though. Can we knock it out?"  
  
"It'll take some doing, but we can, Miss Warrior Girl," he replied with an appreciative grin. "Between us."  
  
She drew his head down for a quick kiss; then, soundlessly, they separated, and moved to flank the Fyarl. On a signal, they both rushed the demon, and Spike punched it with a rapid right and a left. Buffy spun, throwing a powerful kick to its chest; it whirled to confront her, and Spike shouted, "Hey! Grak!" The unwieldy head pivoted back toward him, allowing Buffy to follow up with a two-handed blow to the back of its neck. It reared back and began to snort, and Spike slammed it under the chin, calling out, "Oh, right - mind the mucus!"  
  
Buffy danced backward. "What!?" she exclaimed. The creature was making a now rather ominous snuffling sound.  
  
"It's got a sort of mucus weapon," Spike said, whirling to kick the Fyarl soundly in the diaphragm - betting that it actually had a diaphragm. "Forgot to mention it." Fortunately, his ploy seemed to work; it clutched its midsection with a grunt, and staggered forward. "Best not allow it to, uh, let loose - "   
  
Together, they pummeled the creature to the ground - keeping well out of range of any discharge - and a robust kick to the head from Spike finished it off. It subsided to the floor, with an almost peaceful sigh.   
  
"Well, we captured our minion." Buffy stood with her hands on her hips, surveying the limp, bulky form lying between them. "Now we've just got to get it home."   
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
"So," Angel said in a friendly tone, pulling out a chair out from the table and seating himself, as Riley collapsed back into his. "Now you're going to tell us everything we want to know about your former Initiative pals, the Doctor, and what you're really doing here."  
  
"I'm looking for my wife!"  
  
"Maybe that's true, maybe it isn't. We'll see. Why did you come here last spring?"  
  
"The Doctor. We thought she double-crossed us."  
  
"Your organization? The Suovolte eggs were for you?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"What for? Weapons?"  
  
"No; they're too erratic to make good weapons. But certain substances - certain valuable substances - can be extracted from the embryos."  
  
"How did Spike get them?"  
  
Riley shrugged. "Just what he said, probably. It turned out that one of the Doctor's low-level minions double-crossed HER, and lifted them to sell back to the Suovolte. He didn't know anything; probably just let somebody store them in exchange for some quick cash."  
  
"So who is the Doctor?"  
  
"No one knows. No one's ever seen her. We know she operates from near the Hellmouth, but we only talk to subordinates."  
  
"And why is your group allied with her?"  
  
"We're not! She's a common criminal, a crime boss. She's a supplier, that's all." Riley had answered all Angel's questions in a monotone, shoulders slumping. But now he raised his head and threw a glance at Xander and another, curiously, at Fred. "We're not - we're not street thugs. We only deal in rare items, on commission. Only for select buyers who really need them."  
  
"'Select' buyers who really need them? Right," Angel said, his lips twisted in distaste. "Fred, why don't you tell everyone what you found out about the substance they get from Suovolte embryos?"   
  
"Well, it's sort of a glowing black goo, called 'suoshashai,'" she answered, pushing her glasses up her nose, "and it's used in certain kinds of necromancy."   
  
"Okay, so I'm not too up on the spooky stuff," Xander said. "And necromancy is, again?"  
  
"Raising the dead," Angel replied with a steady, meaningful look, "and controlling them - almost like turning them into zombies."  
  
"It's extra dangerous, because it can be used on anyone who's been raised from the dead," Fred said, her face sober. "Even long afterwards. The user doesn't have to be at the gravesite or anything."  
  
Xander could actually feel the blood drain from his face. Anyone who's been raised from the dead. Even long afterwards. The room started to spin as he heard Gunn say, "Hey, man, you all right?"  
  
  
TBC  
  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
  
"GLORY of warrior, glory of orator, glory of song,  
Paid with a voice flying by to be lost on an endless sea-  
Glory of Virtue, to fight, to struggle, to right the wrong-  
Nay, but she aim'd not at glory, no lover of glory she;  
Give her the glory of going on, and still to be.  
  
The wages of sin is death: if the wages of Virtue be dust,  
Would she have heart to endure for the life of the worm and the fly?  
She desires no isles of the blest, no quiet seats of the just,  
To rest in a golden grove, or to bask in a summer sky;  
Give her the wages of going on, and not to die."  
  
Alfred, Lord Tennyson 


	14. Wan Remembering

Title: SAMARITAN  
Author: Ivytree  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc. Except Wally and Mrs. C, and the rest of the demon gang...  
Feedback: Please!  
Summary: Sequel to Grandpa; A soul makes everyday demands, and others a little more esoteric... and tougher still.  
Setting: The near future; say, September  
  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
  
SAMARITAN Pt. 14 Wan Remembering  
  
  
Three pale faces and one dark one bobbed before Xander's eyes, and the tabletop tilted crazily.   
  
"No problem," he mumbled, holding onto consciousness with all his will. The smoky clouds obscuring his vision cleared with painful slowness, and he found himself gazing straight at Angel. Ordinarily he would have tried very hard not to do this, but now Angel's dark eyes held his own and for some reason steadied him.   
  
"It's okay," he heard himself jabber, "I had a touch of flu this week, that's all. And you know, having the flu touch you is like, eeww; and then we were talking about dead people and I hate talking about dead people. It's a thing I have. Okay, I'll shut up now."   
  
The others stared at him in perturbation; he deliberately uncurled his fists under the table, forced his shoulders to relax, and even gave them a reassuring if sickly smile. He had to look like nothing was wrong, nothing unnatural or mysterious, at least.   
  
Because Riley didn't know. That's what Angel's unwavering regard was telling him; Riley didn't know.   
  
And he could never, must never know. If there were substances like this 'suoshashai' out there, who could tell what other dangers to Buffy might lie hidden? All of them, Giles, Willow, Anya, Dawn and Spike - and, he supposed, the Angel Investigations team - had to protect her secret with their lives, from now on.  
  
The reality of what they'd done last year hit him. It seemed so simple at the time. If you loved Buffy, you should want her to be alive, shouldn't you? But deep inside he'd known it was never that simple; he'd lived on the Hellmouth his whole life. What had Spike said? 'There's always consequences.' He looked at Riley, the normal guy - the normal guy who was now the greatest threat of all to Buffy; and then at Dead Boy, brooding darkly at the head of the table, and knew full well he would protect her at any cost. When did good and evil flip in this damned universe?  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
"His horns are real big; if you take one and I take the other, we can drag him," Buffy suggested hopefully, surveying their captive with her hands on her hips.   
  
"That'll leave marks on the ground," Spike said. "Better they don't find out we got one." He grinned, knowing perfectly well she just didn't want to pick up the Fyarl. "Come on, Slayer; I'll take his shoulders and you take his legs."  
  
"Oh, all right," she pouted. "But only under protest. I just bought this sweater!"  
  
"Very nice, too." She always looked beautiful to him, even covered with plaster dust and demon goo. Fyarls did tend to secrete. He hooked his arms under Grak's. "Don't worry, love, we'll have him home in no time."  
  
"All I have to say is, eeww and double eeewww." Buffy grimaced, hoisting her end of the enormous demon.  
  
Dawn and Anya trailed behind them, delicately picking their way through the debris.   
  
Heaving their seemingly inanimate burden over one particularly challenging pile of cement chunks and plasterboard, they heard Dawn call helpfully, "Be sure to mind the mucus, you two!"  
  
Buffy rolled her eyes.  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
"What does your wife know about your organization?" Angel said. "What can the Doctor find out from her?"  
  
"Not as much as she thinks," Riley replied. "Sam is - well, she's sort of an auxiliary member."  
  
"What's that mean?" Xander said. This whole business was giving him a queasy feeling in his gut; he didn't want to know these things. The world was about to reveal its true, savage face beneath the mask of normality - again - and he didn't want to see it. He'd liked Sam. He'd liked thinking of Riley and Sam as the perfect action-figure couple, dashing, adventurous, and romantic. And she sure SEEMED just as gung-ho as Riley did, which suggested she thought she was a full member of the team. Unless this was all because -   
  
"Because the girl's part demon?" Gunn suggested.   
  
"She didn't come up through the military," Riley said. For some reason he sounded evasive - and looked it, too; jeez, the guy never looked you in the eye anymore. He used to be so straightforward. "She was in the area, and joined us when we got there - "  
  
Fred spoke up suddenly, her thin little face almost stern. "That's not exactly how it happened, is it?" she said.  
  
Riley stared at the tabletop.  
  
"She wasn't just THERE, was she? She was a prisoner."  
  
"What are you talking about - " Xander protested, for what seemed like the fifth time this evening. But he didn't finish, because Riley just sat there, shoulders hunched, not saying a word. Xander swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry again. Oh, God, it was all true.   
  
"The human/demon hybrid community was there when your organization got there, right?" Fred turned to the others, her brown eyes earnest. "Groups like that often flee their country of origin seeking a safe area to live, far away from people - human people, that is."  
  
She faced Riley again. "And you all showed up, and they got into some kind of tangle with you. Of course, with your superior firepower, you defeated them easily. And then you had yourselves a convenient population of servants and footsoldiers, with no pesky human rights laws to interfere - 'cause they're not exactly human."   
  
"It wasn't like that!" Riley burst out. "They needed our help! Two of their shamans went over to the dark side and threatened them all - they were GLAD to join us. They were grateful!"  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
"So what do you think, love?" Spike asked. He dug his hands in his pockets, his fair head angled and his blue eyes intent. Buffy could hardly keep herself from grabbing him and kissing him again right in front of everybody. However, business before pleasure. She could just hear him saying that, and repressed an inappropriate smile.  
  
"He looks sick," Mrs. Caprescu said with unmistakable authority. Apparently, Clem's mom was more than just a housewife. "Aura looks sick."  
  
They stood with Clem in a loose circle around the captive Fyarl, now chained in the basement of the house at 99 Deuce Lane. It had taken an epic effort to get him here through the wreckage-strewn tunnels. Anya and Dawn had returned to the Magic Box; Anya, looking slightly conscious, voiced an intention to call Xander (in a strictly professional capacity, of course) regarding the hole in the basement wall. And for once it had not been difficult to get Dawn to stay behind; she said Fyarls gave her the creeps ever since that time Giles turned into one.   
  
Grak seemed semi-comatose and muttered to himself in a rumbling undertone. Spike sighed.   
  
"Tough enough to get sense out of a Fyarl at the best of times," he said. "But this poor bastard is off his loaf. Hasn't even mentioned any of the things they usually rabbit on about - family, food, and fighting, basically."  
  
"What IS he saying?" Buffy said.  
  
"A lot of guff about Hard Female - must be the Doctor - and what bits she'll chop off if ol' Grak doesn't produce Warrior Female." He gave her a smile that had the curious effect of making her insteps tingle. "I guess we all know who that is."  
  
"'Hard Female'?" She looked at him, feeling her cheeks warm. Business, Buffy, business. "That's kinda weird."  
  
"Fyarl's a bit meager in the vocabulary department."  
  
Her wrinkled visage full of concern, Mrs. Caprescu placed a hand on the massive demon's chest. Spike moved forward as if to protect her, but his intervention wasn't needed; Grak twitched but otherwise seemed unaware of her presence.   
  
"This is wrong," she said. "Is very - very forlorn for this one, cut off from brothers. How do you say it? Is hurting brain."  
  
"You mean brain damage, Mom?" Clem said.   
  
"Yes, brain damage," she repeated carefully. "Fyarls don't work like this - he'll die."  
  
"Think that's the thrall?  
  
She nodded, her drooping features grim. Buffy admitted to herself that she'd always thought of Clem as a comic relief type of demon, but there was nothing humorous about his mother, who was obviously a person of distinction. She was impressed, and a little nervous.   
  
"Not that Fyarls' brains are much to write home about in the first place," Spike remarked, frowning. "That's why this Doctor bint always needs new minions, I reckon; they don't last long if their brains fry."   
  
All at once he seemed uncomfortable and, watching his face, Buffy saw an expression flicker across it that she didn't immediately recognize. Was it - could it be - compassion? Even for this creature?  
  
He went on, "You can fix 'im up, though, right, Mrs. C?"  
  
"Oh, yes," she nodded, earrings bobbing. "I can fix."  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
Gunn sat forward and folded his hands in front of him on the table, a certain tension evident in the line of his shoulders. He looked like a guy who could handle himself, Xander thought, wondering how he got mixed up with Angel. Dead Boy himself, leaning back and somehow managing to look mysterious without actually doing anything, seemed to trust him to handle this part of the interrogation.  
  
"So let me get this straight," Gunn said, his voice deliberate. "These human/demon hybrids work for you, fight for you, cook for you, clean up your mess, take out your garbage, detail your cars, press your uniforms, and shine your shoes - all because they're grateful? Those are some thankful people."   
  
"They're not people," Riley said sullenly.  
  
"Uh-huh. But they're people enough to take into your bed."  
  
"It wasn't like that! She was working in the barracks, and as soon as I saw her I could tell she wasn't like the others...."  
  
"Right. A house servant. Hello, Mandingo."  
  
"Charles." Fred slipped her hand through the crook of his arm.  
  
"Sorry, baby; but, damn." He leaned forcefully back in his chair. "Not like I haven't heard THIS stuff before."  
  
"We took care of them; they couldn't make it on their own. They thanked us every day. They needed us to protect them."   
  
"I guess indentured servitude is better than death, even for demons," Xander said. He definitely felt sick now.  
  
"It's not like you're making it sound. I love Sam, and she loves me."   
  
"How does that go with her not being 'people'?" Fred said, her voice gentle. "If you care about her just like a person, and she cares about you, why isn't she a person?"  
  
Riley rubbed his face with both hands. "She is. She's different from the rest, I guess," he said. "I don't know anymore. I just want her back."  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
Night had fallen. The dark streets of Demon Town were quiet, since a large part of the population wasn't up and about yet, though light streamed from a few windows. Spike and Buffy were on their way to the Magic Box for supplies, and later everyone would meet at Mrs. Caprescu's to plot strategy. It was time for some action.   
  
As they descended the front steps, Buffy took Spike's hand, threading her fingers through his. He hesitated, looking at their hands joined together and then at her.   
  
She turned to face him. The light of an old-fashioned street lamp gilded his hair and skin, and it did seem to her that she saw a new glow in his eyes. Or was that imagination? His face was so unguarded - how could he trust her again like this? But he did. And she trusted him. That alone was some kind of miracle. Suddenly her eyes were wet, and her heart surged with tenderness as she saw tears in his eyes, too.   
  
She smiled a little, and put her free hand on his chest, rubbing the thin cotton of his shirt under her fingers, feeling the hard muscle and cool skin beneath. She loved his temperature, never too warm and never cold, always just what she wanted to feel. She'd missed that so much. She drew a deep breath.   
  
"Spike," she said softly, her voice tremulous, "isn't there something you want to tell me?"  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
It was dark undergtound. She loved the darkness now. Once it had frightened her; she didn't know what might be hiding in the shadows. Now she hid there.   
  
She could move fast when she needed to, and silently, and then keep perfectly still so as not to be seen. Every tunnel, every passage, every nook and hidey-hole of Sunnydale's nether world was as familiar to her as her own home. She could sniff things out, too; she couldn't remember when she'd discovered that talent. She could go anywhere, find anything, follow anyone, without being seen or heard.   
  
Now she hid. It was damp, where she was, and something smelled rank; but she was so used to that she didn't notice anymore. She could fit herself into the smallest spaces and hunker down, all but invisible. It felt good to do that. It felt secure.   
  
Sometimes terror would overwhelm her, and she'd just rise and flee. And she would run and run, keeping to the black shadows, keeping silent, swallowing her gasps of fear, until she found another sheltered place to hide. She hadn't found the perfect place yet, but she was always looking. It must be safe somewhere, even for her; there must be a place where no one could find her, not Them - and not Her.   
  
  
TBC  
  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
  
"And I am but a shriveled thing  
Beneath the midnight sky;  
A wasted, wan remembering  
Of days long wandered by.  
  
And yet I lift my sightless face  
Toward the eerie light,  
And tread the lonely way we trace  
Across the haunted night."  
  
Wilfred Campbell 


	15. The Clankless Chain

Title: SAMARITAN  
Author: Ivytree  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc. Except Wally and Mrs. C, and the rest of the demon gang...  
Feedback: Please!  
Summary: Sequel to Grandpa; A soul makes everyday demands, and others a little more esoteric... and tougher still.  
Setting: The near future; say, September  
  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
  
SAMARITAN Pt. 15 The Clankless Chain  
  
  
"Isn't there something you want to tell me?"  
  
Spike closed his hands over Buffy's and held her warm little fingers against his chest, head bowed. Waves of emotion had tumbled him today like surf; his feet had been swept from under him, and now his balance was uncertain. She had kissed him tenderly, and whispered that she was afraid he didn't love her, and wept in his arms - had it really happened, or was he dreaming again? But here she was, and here they stood together on the shadowy street, enveloped in the golden cone of lamplight. And she waited for him to tell her - what?  
  
Her vibrant presence flooded his senses; he heard hear heartbeat quicken, felt her breath hot against his cheek, smelled the sweet rich blood swirling through her veins. Now that the moment had come, he couldn't find the words.   
  
"Buffy," he said slowly. He raised his head to look into her deep and glorious eyes, shining with unshed tears. And with something else -  
  
"You know!" he exclaimed.  
  
"Darn it, Spike!" she said, dropping her forehead against his chest, and sliding her arms around his waist. "Why couldn't you tell me yourself? You know I'm not smart enough to figure it out. Dopey Buffy missed every clue."  
  
"Then how - ?"  
  
She looked up, laughing. "Angel told me."   
  
"Pillock!" he growled. His ire was half-hearted, though. Truly, it was a relief; he'd been trying to think of what to say for months now, and hadn't come up with anything remotely convincing. 'Hi, honey, I'm home, and guess what?' No. He felt his shoulders relax, and folded his arms around her. "I specifically asked him - "  
  
"He didn't mean to, it just slipped out."  
  
"Typical!" he snorted. "He never could keep his mouth shut." Not that he really cared what Granddad thought, but... "What did he, uh, say?"   
  
"He told me he knows it sounds stupid, but he's proud of you." She nestled her head into the crook of his shoulder, smoothing her hands up and down his back. "It doesn't sound stupid to me; I am, too."  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
"Hey, Mom!" Clem exclaimed. "They're kissing!"  
  
"Clem, don't be nosy. Close curtains."  
  
"They're kissing a LOT," he said, his ears twitching with interest. "Gee whiz! You mean you're not surprised?"  
  
"No." She found the spellbook she was looking for, and drew it carefully from the bookcase. "She didn't like him, she wouldn't be so mad all the time."  
  
"Well, if you say so," he said. He was glad his Sophie wasn't the type of girl to get mad like that, even if she was a human. Give him a peaceful life, that's what he always said (though, now that he thought of it, Spike never said that). At any rate, Spike seemed pretty happy now; he guessed that was what counted.  
  
His mother pursed her lips over the page she read. "Clem, go get cauldron from basement, please; I think we need big potion this time."  
  
"Sure, Mom."  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
Angel heard Xander and Riley puffing behind him, and slowed his pace.   
  
"Suck it up, guys," he said. "We've got a lot to do tonight."  
  
Neither one was in very good shape for a tunnel prowl, which was annoying; and both were still afraid of him, which was even more annoying. Fred and Gunn were neither afraid nor panting - at least from exertion.  
  
Leading the group through the darkened streets of Sunnydale gave Angel a curious feeling, as if he were returning to his childhood home. Everything seemed unaccountably small. He wasn't too familiar with this area, which was made up of row houses and small shops. The neighborhood was neatly kept, and smelled of cool brick and mossy stone, the rusted metal of old bicycles and autos in constant need of repair, and faint, diffuse traces of various types of demon, some acrid and some bitter. He remembered his way around all right, though in his day he'd always tried to avoid Demon Town. Characteristically, Spike felt right at home here; majestic isolation had never been his style. He'd always found some kind of camaraderie, even if it was hunting with Fyarls or, on one memorable occasion, teaching Tuscan were-bears to play craps.   
  
In the old days, Angel had - Angelus had, he reminded himself impatiently - always felt snobbish about consorting with common demons, a prejudice Spike never shared and in fact openly scorned. Once more, Spike had been right; his friends and allies in the demon world were invaluable now. Who cared if they didn't exactly look like ladies and gentlemen?  
  
"This is it," he said, as they turned a corner, "Deuce Lane."  
  
"What nice little brownstones," Fred said. "Everything's so clean!"   
  
"Looks good," Gunn agreed. Angel caught back a biting remark. Those two were so mutually supportive and devoted it got on his nerves, he had to admit it; he wasn't in the mood to coddle little fluffy bunnies. Or wasn't he like the dog in the manger, snapping and snarling to keep others from having what he couldn't enjoy? Romance had turned out to be beyond his grasp, certainly.   
  
He mounted the steps of number 99, and the door opened. A lady demon stood in the entrance, surveying him with calm gravity. He felt strangely intimidated, and that surprised him; he wasn't usually the intimidate-ee. He hesitated, suddenly thrown off his stride.   
  
"Mrs. Caprescu?" he said. "I'm - "  
  
"I know - Angel." She smiled, showing the merest glimpse of fang. Disconcerted, he felt his jaw unclench, and discovered that somehow the steely anger he'd been suppressing for months was loosening its grip on his chest. She stepped back, opening the door wide. "Come in, please; you are all very welcome."   
  
"Thank you, ma'am," he said sincerely.  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
"So it's just humans and us vamps, this trip." Spike leaned on the table, examining the map spread out before them one last time. "This thrall thingy won't work on us, and we haven't got a defense against it yet for the others. We'll split up into two teams. So, Slayer, that's you and me - "  
  
Xander opened his mouth to protest, but Buffy silenced him with a look.   
  
" - And Gunn'll go with Grandpappy here."  
  
"Hey! Didn't I tell you not to call me that?" Angel said, predictably earning himself an insolent grin.   
  
"We'll circle round here from different directions - " Spike continued, putting his finger on a point in the southeastern quadrant - "where these two main entrances are, and nose about a bit. If we can't actually rescue the girl, we might still suss out where she goes, and why."  
  
"Sam is smart, and strong," Riley said. "Even without useful intel about us, she'd be valuable to any organization."  
  
"Yeah, except for the brain-frying thing," Xander mused. Then, when everyone looked at him, he said, "What? Oh. Sorry. But it's what everyone was thinking, right?"  
  
"You know, it's amazing how much you haven't changed," Angel said.   
  
"Well, right back-at-ya, Mr. Swooshy Coat," Xander muttered.   
  
Buffy felt her pulses humming with eagerness to be off. Looking for signs of Sam might seem like searching for one particular needle in a pine forest, but the likelihood of a demon or half-demon looking just like a tall, pretty, dark haired human girl were remote. If they found one, it would probably be Sam.   
  
And once they found her, she admitted to herself, Riley would hopefully go away, and she and Spike would have some time to get re-acquainted. If she could get Xander out of her hair, too. Snatching the occasional odd minute for a kiss wasn't exactly, well, satisfying. She wasn't planning to share this motive with the others, but still, it counted for something.  
  
It was a sign of how much she'd already come to trust Mrs. Caprescu that she considered consulting her about Xander, because she was beginning to wonder if something was seriously wrong with him. He must be over his hangover by now, but he still appeared pale and shaken, and unnaturally silent, for him. And several times she saw him looking at her with an expression in his eyes almost like fear.  
  
"Here is potion," Mrs. Caprescu said, handing a small, brown apothecary bottle to Spike and another to Angel. "For sleep. Use just a drop and you can bring her back; she won't be frightened. Then we can fix thrall." She looked kindly at Riley, who met her ruby eyes with a hangdog expression Buffy found painful to witness. "Don't worry; soon she'll be free."  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
If there was one thing Angel was expert at after all these years, it was gliding noiselessly through unlit tunnels. Somewhat to his surprise, he remembered his way around perfectly, even without the help of Spike's excellent map, and he knew just which paths would bring them toward the suspected location of the Doctor's lair. Gunn, too, despite his size and, well, human-ness, was adept at stealth, and followed him in silence. There was no one he'd rather trust to watch his back - except perhaps Spike, now. Without discussion, they kept their eyes open for scouts and guards, as well as for human-looking young women. They both knew the question wasn't whether or not they would meet an attack - the question was, when?  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
The route they'd chosen, circling in the opposite direction from Angel and Gunn, was dimly lit, but by keeping Spike's pale head in view, Buffy followed him without difficulty. His movements through the narrow, low-ceilinged passages were swift and utterly soundless, as far as she could tell. They had hunted together before, but then it had always involved noisy pursuit and vigorous bashing of their quarry, which was enjoyable enough in itself. But she'd forgotten just how keen a predator he was. It was - well, she had to confess, it was exciting. Beasties beware, she thought; the Big Bad is out tonight. Except he's sort of... good.  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
Left behind to baby-sit Riley while Fred enjoyed a nice talk with their hostess, Xander could hardly do anything but stare. His charge sat slumped in an armchair, leafing unseeingly through a copy of Family Circle. He looked awful, his cheeks stubbled and his olive drab garments crumpled. Was this the same super-cool secret agent guy he'd seen last spring? Xander could hardly believe it.  
  
"So what's your organization called?" he said at last. "I'm guessing it's not anything with 'U.S.' in the title."  
  
Riley looked at him without emotion. "You don't want to know that," he said. Xander felt a chill on the back of his neck. "You really don't."  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
Fred had been given the grand tour, including the display of family pictures featuring the late Mr. Caprescu, the shawled and bowler-hatted ancestors in Romania, and Clem as an amazingly wrinkled (but adorable) infant; now she and her hostess sat at the kitchen table drinking tea. Xander stayed with Riley in the living room, and, figuring that everyone liked root beer and corn chips, Clem had taken some food down to Grak.   
  
"It's not like I'm worried," Fred said. "Charles has been fighting demons - I mean, you know, evil demons - since he was a child, almost. It's just that we usually go together."  
  
"Being apart means you see each other better when you're together again, sometimes," Mrs. Caprescu said.   
  
"That's so true! And you know, I miss him when he's out of my sight for a minute!" Fred exclaimed, her color heightened. "I know that sounds SO sugary and sappy, but I - I was all alone, completely alone, for such a long, long time, and I never thought I'd have anybody, ever. Then one day I looked in his eyes - and there he was. It was just like a miracle."  
  
"For young girl, falling in love IS miracle," Mrs. C said. Fred beamed, blushed again, and opened her mouth to speak.   
  
But before she could say anything, there came sudden sounds of commotion at the back door.   
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
Spike followed Buffy through the kitchen door, trying not to swagger unduly. They'd done it - he bore an inert form slung inelegantly over his shoulder.  
  
"We found her," Buffy announced; "she's unconscious, but okay."  
  
"Knockout drops worked a treat, love. Quite a strapping girl, too," he said, grunting a little. "Just as well, I s'pose, if she's hooked up with the Great - ."   
  
"Spike!"  
  
"I meant, it'd help resisting the thrall thingy, love," he explained innocently. She gave him a look; replying with a sidelong smirk, he saw her struggle to repress an answering grin, to his delight.  
  
"Bring her in here," Mrs. C said, leading the way to the living room.  
  
Spike carried his burden in and laid the girl gently down on the sofa, setting a pillow behind her head. He could tell her heart and breathing were strong, but vamps weren't equipped to deal with brain trouble - she LOOKED all right. Her head lolled, and her arms fell loosely across her torso. Her face was pale and smudged with dirt, and she didn't show any signs of consciousness, but otherwise she seemed like a perfectly ordinary girl, if a mite disheveled. Riley sprang out of his chair and stumbled across to her, almost knocking the coffee table over in his haste.  
  
'It's her - Sam!" he cried; he fell to his knees, clutching one limp hand in his and pushing the tangled hair off her forehead. "How did you find her? Sam!"  
  
The others stood back in awkward silence; Spike looked away as Riley wept over the girl's still form, trying to ignore the ache in his own chest. He could see that tears stood in Fred's eyes.   
  
"She'll sleep for a little while now," Mrs. C said soothingly. "Then we fix thrall."  
  
"Is she okay? Are you sure she's okay?" Riley asked. "Why doesn't she move?"  
  
The poor git was all wrought-up. "Knocked out, isn't she?" Spike reassured him. "She was getting around alright when we caught up with her."   
  
"Did you hurt her? What did you do?" Riley's face flushed, and he leapt up, fists clenching.  
  
"Riley!" Buffy snapped, with sharp authority, halting him in his tracks.  
  
There was a pause; they heard the back door close again, and what sounded like casual shoptalk from the kitchen.  
  
"Man, that dribbling demon was nasty," Gunn's voice said.   
  
"You've always got to watch for secretions," Angel replied, sounding a bit muffled. "Some of them can - "  
  
"What kept you two, Granddad?" Spike called out. "Slayer and I were back in record time. We win."  
  
"Spike, it wasn't a contest!" Buffy said.  
  
"Hold it - what do you mean, you win?" Angel said from beyond the threshold.  
  
"Girl's right here," Spike said. "Good as new. Well, almost."  
  
Gasps from Fred, Xander, and Buffy met Angel's appearance as he swept through the door, his black coat flapping like raven's wings. The old man did like to make an entrance, Spike reflected, with reluctant admiration. They were probably lucky Mrs. C didn't have a skylight for him to crash through.  
  
In his arms was draped the limp body of a dark haired young woman, her face turned into his shoulder.   
  
"So," Angel said, pausing dramatically. "If that's her, who's this?"  
  
  
TBC  
  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
  
  
"And on thy head I pour the vial  
Which doth devote thee to this trial;  
Nor to slumber, nor to die,  
Shall be in thy destiny;  
Though thy death shall still seem near  
To thy wish, but as a fear;  
Lo! the spell now works around thee,  
And the clankless chain hath bound thee;  
O'er thy heart and brain together  
Hath the word been pass'd--now wither!"  
  
Lord Byron, Manfred 


	16. Tired Wings

Title: SAMARITAN  
Author: Ivytree  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc. Except Mrs. C, Eddie, Zevra, Wally and the rest of the demon gang...  
Feedback: Please!  
Summary: Sequel to Grandpa; A soul makes everyday demands, and others a little more esoteric... and tougher still.  
Setting: The near future; say... October!  
  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
  
SAMARITAN Pt. 16 Tired Wings  
  
  
"Then who is this?" Angel stopped in his tracks, his brow creased in puzzlement. "Because she's not entirely human, I can tell that much."  
  
He crossed the room in a few swift strides and put the girl down in an armchair. Her head fell back, and her dark hair fell away from her face. Spike, hearing a swift intake of breath from Buffy and a stifled cry from Xander, shot a sharp glance from one to the other; clearly, they saw something nobody else did. Something that frightened them.  
  
"Oh, my God!" Buffy said. "Xander, it's - "   
  
"Buffy," Xander said, with a sick expression, "look at her hands."  
  
Buffy stared at their captive with horrified eyes. Spike, looking more closely at the girl's hands, saw that instead of normal nails, each finger was tipped with a hard, curved little claw. He noticed other peculiarities about her, too; her ears were oddly angled beneath the lank dark hair, and, most strikingly, her upper lip was slightly cleft. So, he guessed she was part demon, then. But why did Buffy and Xander know her?  
  
"It's - it's Amy," Buffy said, in a strangled voice.   
  
"And who's that, love?" Spike said. "Is she from 'round here? I've never seen her before."  
  
"Actually, I think you have," Xander murmured with a little laugh. Spike wondered what that was supposed to mean, but Monkey Boy looked like he'd had enough for one night, so he held his tongue.  
  
"I sort of remember her, I think," Angel said, frowning. Not the happiest days for Granddad to recall - though it was hard to say what would qualify as happy days, for him. "But she was just a girl, right? A normal human girl you two went to school with?"  
  
"Well, she, she..." Xander seemed to struggle to get the words out. "First she was a girl. Then for a couple of years she was a - "   
  
"She's a witch." Buffy said, in a flat tone. "A real witch. And when she was in danger she turned herself into a rat in order to escape - but there was no way to turn her into herself again. So Willow took care of her. Then Willow figured out how to transform her again, eventually. Or, at least... she thought she did."  
  
"What, that pet rat Wills had scampering about the little wheel thingy was actually a classmate?" Spike said incredulously. "You all-American teens are full of surprises, I must say."  
  
"She had a Habitrail, too," Xander offered.   
  
"And now she's - she's - " Buffy couldn't finish.  
  
"Well, it's obvious, isn't it?" Xander said, his dark eyes haunted, "She's changing back."  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
Mrs. Caprescu's potion simmered in the big iron cauldron in the kitchen, filling the house with a spicy, slightly bitter scent that Buffy found almost Christmas-y. It wouldn't be ready for several hours, and then would need to cool thoroughly. There was nothing more to do until the next day, and everyone was exhausted, anyway. Sam and Amy wouldn't awaken for half a day at least; Grak was still drifting in and out of consciousness (though at least he'd downed some corn chips, as Clem reported reassuringly to Spike), so no further interrogation was possible yet.   
  
Mrs. C had generously - too generously, in Clem's opinion, though he couldn't offer an alternative - allowed Riley to carry Sam to an upper bedroom and remain with her there. Amy was carried to another. Angel, Gunn and Fred decided to return to their respective motel rooms, and drop Xander off at his apartment.  
  
"Try not to think about it," Buffy advised, patting his shoulder as he went out the door.  
  
"My nightmares are going to be full of scrabbling and skittering and squeaking tonight whether I think about it or not," he said. Then his eyes widened and he shuddered. "And cheese, probably. The green, veiny, disgusting kind - yuck!" He went out into the night, his shoulders hunched.  
  
"Come on, love, I'll see you home," Spike said, having made his farewells to Mrs. C and Clem. And Grak, who was apparently his new protege.  
  
"Shouldn't you go back to your crypt and get some rest yourself?" Buffy said. "You must be tired."  
  
"What, me? No fear. Night's young, isn't it?" He held the door for her with a bow.  
  
"If you say so," Buffy sighed, exiting. Mister Tough Guy.  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
"Spike, do you want some coffee or something?" Buffy said, coming into the living room from the kitchen. Then she stopped short.  
  
He was asleep, sitting utterly still on the sofa with his gleaming head thrown back against the cushions.   
  
Buffy silently turned off all the lights in the kitchen and the hallway. Then she folded her arms and watched him for a moment, studying the elegant planes and hollows of his face. Now that it was relaxed, instead of ever responsive and buzzing with alertness, she could see the bluish skin under his eyes, and fine lines showing at the corners of his mouth she'd never seen before. He looked exhausted, in fact. He wasn't breathing, which she knew meant that he was deep in slumber.   
  
She weighed putting the chenille throw over him - he didn't feel the cold, did he? But on the other hand, he always slept covered with something, and it certainly hadn't been out of modesty. Perhaps it was just comfort. Softly, she tucked the blanket over him. He didn't stir so much as an eyelash. Picking up the remote control, she clicked the television on, and curled up in the corner of the couch. She willed her shoulders to relax; even with super-stamina, she needed some rest, too. With one drooping eye on a Cowboy Bebop marathon and the other on Spike (the non-cartoon Spike), she fell into a light doze.   
  
After a couple of hours - Buffy knew it was that long, because several episodes of the program had flickered past her half-aware eyes - his shoulders twitched, and she was immediately alert. A low groan escaped his throat, and just as she reached for him, he suddenly jerked forward with a gasp, and sat breathing hard with his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands.   
  
Buffy sat forward, not sure he was even aware of her presence, put her hand on his shoulder blade, and rubbed it a little, as gently as she knew how.   
  
"Spike," she said, in a very quiet voice, "Trouble sleeping?"  
  
She felt a shudder run through him.   
  
"You might say that," he said, not looking at her.  
  
She slid her arm around his shoulders. "Nightmares?"   
  
"Not exactly." He turned his head to face her. She could tell he was struggling to keep his voice steady. "It's not demonic fantasies or visions of hell, though you might think - ." He broke off for a moment, and then went on doggedly. "It's not dreams. It's what happened. I can see it all again. I can see it, but I can't stop myself." His control finally broke. "I can't stop myself."   
  
She did reach for him then, wrapping both arms around his shoulders and pulling him close, rocking him against her.  
  
"We'll just have to get through it together," she whispered, her lips touching his hair. "Whatever it takes."  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
At around six o'clock the next morning, Buffy heard the back door open and close. That was probably Dawn, she thought, coming home from Anya's to pick up her books before school. AND have breakfast, whether she wanted to or not. Silently, she wriggled out from under Spike's torso and slipped the warm sofa cushion she'd been leaning against under him, and went into the kitchen. Pale sunlight streamed across the countertops.  
  
"Hi, sweetie," she said.  
  
"Hey! Did you guys catch anything last night?" Dawn said brightly.  
  
"Ssh; Spike's asleep on the sofa, Dawnie, and he's awfully tired." Buffy gave her a hug. "We caught things, all right, but we're not sure what. It was really weird - "   
  
"Buffy, are you sure he's okay?" Dawn said, her voice suddenly tremulous. "He's acting so - so different. I asked him, but maybe he wouldn't tell me if he was sick or, I don't know, cursed or something."  
  
"Dawnie." Buffy took her sister's hand. "It's nothing like that, I promise. He IS different; but it's nothing like that. It's something - " She felt tears fill her eyes, which seemed to happen every time she thought of what Spike had done. "Dawnie, it's something wonderful. But I think he should tell you himself."  
  
"Whoa, now you're really scaring me!" Dawn said, but she was smiling. "What's going on?"  
  
Suddenly Buffy heard a sound from the living room, too soft to be called a cry - it was a moan of despair so deep it chilled her heart for a moment. From the arrested look on Dawn's face, she heard it - and felt it - too.   
  
"I've got to go," Buffy said, worriedly. "I'll talk to you before you leave, okay?"  
  
Dawn nodded, and with a last squeeze of her hand, Buffy ran back to Spike.   
  
Heading for the stairs, Dawn moved through the hall, and almost stealthily, despite herself, she peered through the archway into the living room. The drapes were tightly drawn and the room dim, but she could see Buffy kneeling beside the sofa with her arms around Spike, holding him close. He buried his face in her shoulder, and clutched at her waist.   
  
"I'm here, honey," she heard Buffy's voice saying, very softly; "It's okay. I'm here."  
  
Confused and embarrassed, Dawn backed away, careful to step quietly. She knew she'd seen something very private, and not meant for her eyes. At first, the little scene seemed sad, but for some inexplicable reason she felt a bubble of happiness swell inside. She turned and lightly sped up the stairs.  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
"AMY?!" Dawn yelped.  
  
"Well, that's what your sis told me," Spike said. "And she's sort of re-rattifying, if you know what I mean."  
  
Dawn had come down the stairs after showering, blow-drying and dressing for school and passed her sister going the other way. "I'm hitting the shower for ten minutes; Spike's awake if you want to talk to him," Buffy said.   
  
Feeling a little nervous, Dawn went into the kitchen, where the blinds had been drawn, and fixed herself a bowl of nice, healthy cereal, just like Buffy always wanted her to. Not that she was putting off talking to Spike or anything, but if he was so tired.... The first spoonful had almost reached her mouth when Spike ambled in, blinking sleepily. She looked anxiously for signs of the night's terrors - if that's what they were - but she didn't see any.   
  
"Morning, Niblet," he said, sounding perfectly normal.   
  
He sat down at the counter, and before she knew it he was telling her about the events of the night before, and she was laughing because he always made their adventures seem funny, not scary; it was just like a hundred other times. He told her about Sam, and Riley, and Angel and his friends helping out, and Mrs. Caprescu and her remarkable skill, knowledge, and experience. And he told her about Amy's mysterious condition.  
  
"Does she have like whiskers and a tail and stuff?" she said, round-eyed. She barely knew Amy, and had never liked her - plus, she was sort of associated in her mind with Willow, which was not of the good at this point - but turning into a rat, even a giant rat was just, like, eewww. She wouldn't wish that on anybody.  
  
He thought it over. "Not yet," he said. "'Least, I'm not sure about the tail."  
  
"That is so gross!" she said.   
  
"Mrs. C will fix her up." It sounded as if he had total confidence in Clem's mom. Obviously, she was one of Spike's favorite people - or whatever - and Dawn was growing increasingly eager to meet her.  
  
He took a sip of his coffee, and there was a pause. She still had some time before she had to go. She examined the orange pulp in the bottom of her empty juice glass, feeling almost shy.  
  
"Spike," she said, "Buffy said there's something you want to tell me."  
  
"Oh." He sounded startled. She looked up anxiously, but now he examined HIS cup with unusual interest. "Well, yeah."  
  
"You don't have to if you don't want to."  
  
"It's not that, pet; it's just bloody hard to explain." He grimaced, and seemed to set his shoulders. "You'll be the first one I've told right out."  
  
"Oh." That sounded important.  
  
"You know when I - went away," he began.   
  
"Yes?" She knew her voice sounded tight, but she couldn't help it; she'd been so frightened when he'd gone without a word. And that was before she knew what happened.  
  
"I had to go, sweetness; I had change the way things were. So what I did was, I looked up this super-powerful demon geezer I'd heard tell of. He's got this set-up where if you pass some tests and so on, you can get anything you want."  
  
"I'm guessing that's not tests as in calculus tests or chemistry tests."  
  
"I'd be buggered if they were, Bit," he said, with a smile. "Not exactly my forte."  
  
"Me, either!"   
  
"No, this was more a - well, let's say an action-oriented test."  
  
"Like fighting and stuff," she said sagely. "So what happened?"  
  
"Well, so I got through the ordeals and that, eventually."  
  
"You said you could get anything, right?" She swallowed, her throat suddenly tight. Did that mean - but it couldn't be the chip. Buffy said it was wonderful; she wouldn't think it was so wonderful if she had to stake Spike. "What did you ask for?"  
  
"What I did was, I got my soul back."   
  
Dawn stared at him. He drank half his mug of coffee in one swallow and set his mug back down, glancing up at her from under his brows.  
  
Of course. How could she not guess? She was an idiot. Buffy was an idiot. They were all idiots. Look at the way he'd been acting for months; and there was even something about his eyes.   
  
But how COULD she have guessed? This was IMPOSSIBLE.  
  
"You - you - you - "  
  
He sighed. "That's what everybody says."  
  
"I didn't know you could even do that," she said unevenly.  
  
"Don't s'pose there's a lot of call for it."  
  
"So you could have anything you wanted, and that's what you chose?"  
  
"S'right."  
  
"Oh, Spike." She could hear her voice quaver, but she couldn't help it. Now she knew why there were tears in Buffy's eyes. "Oh, Spike."  
  
He cleared his throat. "Now, none of that, Niblet, or you'll have me starting."  
  
But she couldn't keep the tears from slipping down her cheeks, and she ran around the counter to hug him. "Buffy was right - it IS wonderful!"  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
Success! She thought, at last, success! She'd seen the one she wanted, the small one, the golden one - the one with power. Power. She hummed the word to herself. Finally, she had been drawn near enough to recognize, to sense, to study. The others didn't matter. They had never mattered. The half demon girl? Useless. The other one? Worse than useless, and she always had been. And she could spare a Fyarl anytime - let its brain putrefy. Let it rot. There were plenty more of its kind.   
  
But the Golden One - that was the one she longed for. She could feel the force in her, like the warmth of an open flame, flickering enticingly just out of her reach. But not for long. Not for long. Soon, soon she would have her power - and she would have her. Soon she would draw her here, and then, and then... her mind clattered and sparkled with anticipation. We - they - she - I will have her.   
  
  
TBC  
  
  
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"SLEEP; and my song shall build about your bed  
A paradise of dimness. You shall feel  
The folding of tired wings; and peace will dwell  
Throned in your silence: and one hour shall hold  
Summer, and midnight, and immensity  
Lulled to forgetfulness. For, where you dream,  
The stately gloom of foliage shall embower  
Your slumbering thought with tapestries of blue.  
And there shall be no memory of the sky,  
Nor sunlight with its cruelty of swords.  
But, to your soul that sinks from deep to deep  
Through drowned and glimmering colour, Time shall be  
Only slow rhythmic swaying; and your breath;  
And roses in the darkness; and my love."  
  
Siegfried Sassoon 


	17. What Is False Within

Title: SAMARITAN  
Author: Ivytree  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy,   
etc. Except Mrs. C, Eddie, Zevra, Wally and the rest of the demon   
gang...  
Feedback: Please!  
Summary: Sequel to Grandpa; A soul makes everyday demands, and others   
a little more esoteric... and tougher still.  
Setting: The near future; say... October!  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -   
  
  
SAMARITAN Pt. 17 What Is False Within  
  
  
"Grak hurt." The demon sat on Mrs. Caprescu's basement floor, holding his massive head in his hands, if you could call them hands, exactly. They had unchained him hours before, but he showed no signs of wanting to go anywhere. Spike wasn't sure he'd be able to get anything coherent out of him at all, but he perked up considerably when he heard his own language.   
  
"Listen, Lofty," Spike said, "we'll have you home to your mates in no time, don't you worry. But first you've got to tell us everything you remember about, uh, Hard Female."  
  
The great creature cringed. "Hard Female HURT Grak," he said warily.   
  
"I won't let her get you again, and that's a promise, alright?" For a moment, Spike had to struggle to keep the grit out of his voice. Fyarls weren't the brightest of beasties, but they usually displayed the self-confidence that came with being able to kick just about anything's ass. He'd never seen one cower before, and it made him feel sick and angry. He went on, in a reassuring tone, "But I need to know what you know; then Warrior Female, and me, and all our warrior mates can make her go away for good, understand?"  
  
"Hard Female go away?" Grak said, a glint of what might have been hope lighting his red eyes.  
  
"That's right," Spike said patiently. "Go away for ever."  
  
He could see Buffy in the shadows under the stairs, a waft of gold in the darkness, her arms folded, listening. Of course, she couldn't understand a word, but she'd wanted to watch, anyway. They had arrived to question Grak at about midday, after Mrs. C phoned to confirm that the thrall-remover potion had worked. "You'd best wait where he can't see you, love," Spike told Buffy as they descended into the basement. "He's afraid of you, and he's nervous enough as it is."  
  
She frowned. "Why's he afraid of me? It took both of us to catch him."  
  
"You're the Slayer, pet," he said.   
  
"Oh." With a pang, he watched her face grow troubled. Didn't she know that to the non-human world she was an ancient, terrifying legend come to life? Did she really still think of herself as 'just a girl'? "Well, okay," she said, and withdrew into an obscure corner.   
  
When Spike had gotten all he could out of the still-woozy Fyarl, they joined Angel, Fred, and Xander, who were gathered in the kitchen drinking root beer - it was really very good root beer - and eating pretzels from a big bowl. Gunn had gone off to contact some of Vinnie Teeth's underworld sources. Fred's glasses slid down her nose as she busily keyed extensive notes into her laptop, and as he approached Spike reached over and pushed them back up with one casual finger. She gave him a friendly grin.  
  
"How'd it go?" she said. "Any useful, um, 'intel'?"  
  
Spike spun a chair around and sat in it backwards, folding his arms along the back, and Buffy sat beside him, grabbing a handful of pretzels. "Well," he said, "Ol' Grak wasn't a lot of help, but for what it's worth, he says Hard Female can talk in his head, and can hurt him a lot - which isn't that easy with a Fyarl - without touching him."  
  
"Scary," Xander said. "Especially for the intellectually challenged type of critter."  
  
"That would imply some pretty impressive powers," Angel said.  
  
"Right. He also confirmed that she runs through the minions pretty quickly, so she's always snatching up new ones, and that she never leaves her 'shiny cave,' which I take it means one of Sunnyhell's many sunken buildings. So we were right about that, too. Still not much to go on." He ate a pretzel. "Good thing we've got more minions."  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
"I'm so not looking forward to this," Xander said as they mounted the stairs. His heart actually beat faster the closer they got to Amy. She should be awake by now, and it had been decided that he and Buffy would try to talk to her, since she actually knew them. Spike, Angel and Fred would wait outside, just in case. In case of what wasn't specified.   
  
Xander was reluctant to admit how much this whole Amy thing creeped him out. It seemed sort of sissy to be so bothered, considering other horrors they'd faced. As he had predicted, his dreams had been filled with squeaking and scrabbling and gleaming eyes in the darkness. All day long he found himself surreptitiously, and insanely, checking his own fingernails to see if they had begun to resemble Amy's neat little claws.  
  
He dwelled on obvious but unasked questions - when she was a rat, did she remember being a girl? When she was a girl again, did she remember being a rat? And now that she was becoming whatever it was she was becoming, was she frightened? Or glad? Was she relieved to be here amongst humans she knew, or would she rather scurry back down into her cozy, labyrinthine underworld, and continue her transformation into - what?   
  
"She must be hungry by now," he said abruptly. "Maybe we should have brought cheese."  
  
"Xander!" Buffy said.  
  
"Or maybe pizza," he went on, unheeding, "that's got cheese in it. Or on it, anyway - "  
  
"Xander, it's not funny!"   
  
"Was I joking?" He looked at her resolute face, and hunched his shoulders to suppress a shudder, wondering if it would take more courage to back out now, or to go ahead with it. "There aren't many problems that can't be solved by the judicious application of junk food."  
  
"Sure, why didn't we think of that before?" Angel said sardonically. "We could have just attacked the Mayor with Cheese Doodles and saved ourselves a world of trouble."  
  
"Ah, but it has to be the RIGHT junk food," Xander said. "The perfectly calculated balance of nutrient-free fat, sugar, and salt."  
  
"Don't you ever get tired of being a - " Angel began sharply.   
  
"YOU KNOW, much as I hate to admit it, Special Ed here has a point," Spike interrupted.   
  
"He does?" Buffy said.   
  
"I do?" Xander said.  
  
"The girl's probably terrified, confused, and hungry, after twelve hours in a strange room. Going in there with some kind of offering is probably not a bad idea. Not pizza, though," Spike mused. "That's for celebrating, or relaxing. We need something for fear and anxiety. What would you two ladies go for?"  
  
"Tacos!" Fred said. Then, at his raised eyebrow, she continued, "But maybe that's just me. How about waffles? Or cookies?"  
  
"I was going to say ice cream," Buffy said. "But, you know, she did ask for cookies when she first, uh, turned into herself again."  
  
"Makes a change from pellets." Xander dug his hands into his pockets.   
  
"Will you just let it go?" Angel said, in an exasperated tone. Xander was interested to see that he could brood and glare at the same time - pretty flexible, really.  
  
"Chocolate chip, right?" Spike said. "'Chicks love chocolate' - I read that somewhere. Wait here, I'll be right back." He swung over the banister and made for the kitchen, offering Xander a few minutes reprieve.   
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
Buffy balanced a plate of neatly arranged chocolate chip cookies in one hand and knocked on the door softly, then with a little more force. When there was no response, she opened it, saying, "Amy?"  
  
It was an ordinary enough room, with a single bed, an armchair, and a dresser; there was a large window, with partly drawn curtains, and a door that probably led to a closet. The floor was covered with a braided rug. Buffy stepped in and put the plate on the dresser. Xander followed, his heart pounding. All right, this is stupid, he thought. There's nothing to be afraid of. It's not like 'turning into a giant rat' is catching or anything. But I KNOW her, a small-boy Xander voice answered back; I know her, and she's turning into a monster before my eyes.  
  
At first, they couldn't see Amy at all; she wasn't on the bed, or in the chair. Then, after a few moments, they heard it - a thin, scratching sound like claws against wood. Xander's stomach knotted as Buffy swiftly followed the noise to its source, a corner behind the head of the bed. She stood looking down, and said again, "Amy?"  
  
With legs as cold and heavy as stone, Xander crossed the room. From behind Buffy, he could see Amy, huddled against the wall, staring up at them, her beady dark eyes intent. No whiskers yet, thank God, he thought.  
  
"Hi, Buffy!" she said suddenly. "Hi, Xander!" She sounded like the perky cheerleader she once was, except for a slight problem with sibilants caused by her newly cleft upper lip. He averted his eyes.   
  
"Hey," he said.  
  
"Hi, Amy," Buffy said gently. "How are you feeling? If you're hungry, we've got cookies."  
  
"I wouldn't mind that," Amy said, rising; she didn't stand quite upright, but in a semi-crouch. She darted to the dresser and grabbed a cookie from the plate, holding it between both hands and starting to nibble. Xander felt a muscle in his jaw begin to twitch.   
  
Buffy sat on the edge of the bed.  
  
"Amy, we wanted to ask you - "  
  
"Where am I, anyway?" Amy said suddenly. "This isn't your house."  
  
"It's the home of a friend of ours. You're perfectly safe here."  
  
Disconcertingly, she giggled. "Think so?" she said, and resumed gnawing the cookie, her sharp eyes flitting around the room.  
  
"Honestly, you are," Buffy said. "And Amy, we think we can help you with - with your problem."  
  
"Do I have a problem?" She spoke rapidly, her words tumbling over each other. "You think she can't find me here, don't you? She'll find me. And she'll find you, too."  
  
"Even if she does, you'll still be safe."  
  
Amy snickered, and coughed on a cookie crumb. "She doesn't want me, anyway. She's never wanted me." Her laughter ended, shockingly, in a squeak. "She wants you, Buffy. You're the one. She wants you."  
  
"What does that mean?" Xander said uneasily.  
  
"She doesn't care about me. She doesn't care about any of the others. It was just a trick, to find Buffy. Buffy's the one with the power. All SHE wants is power. So she wants Buffy."  
  
"To do what?" Buffy said, flatly. "It's not like a battery she can drain. It's part of me."  
  
Amy started to laugh again. "You'll never guess," she said. "But I bet you'll be surprised, all right." She climbed onto the bed and scooted back against the wall. Xander saw that she was shivering intermittently like a nervous animal.   
  
"Can you tell us - " Buffy began.  
  
"I can't tell you. I can't tell you anything. She'll kill me if I tell you. She'll find me, and she'll kill me. You can't make me tell you!" Her voice was frantic, and she made little kicking motions with her bare feet as if to push herself right into the wall. Xander was afraid to look at her toes.  
  
"Okay, okay, already," he said. "Buff - "  
  
"Never mind, Amy; we're not going to make you do anything," Buffy said in a quiet, authoritative that seemed to sooth the girl. "But if you change your mind, please tell me. You can stay here and our friend can help you, if you want her to. Or we'll take you home to your dad's."  
  
"No!" Amy cried, suddenly sounding entirely human. "Please, no!" She curled up on the bed, knees drawn up and arms hugging her chest. "I don't want him to see me like this," she whispered, and began to rock and whimper.   
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
At last, Buffy and Xander emerged, and faced Spike, Fred and Angel on the landing.   
  
"Well - " Buffy breathed, sagging back against the closed door, "that was - uh - "  
  
"Hideous?" Xander suggested, forcing himself to breathe. "Abhorrent? Grotesque? Appalling? Nauseating?"  
  
"I was going to say, fruitless."  
  
He felt a sudden rush of saliva in his mouth, and gulped. "Well, I'm going with nauseating," he said, as the lights on the landing began flare and dim.   
  
"Whoops," he heard Spike say under his breath; then he felt himself strong-armed through a door that led, he was grateful to discover, to a bathroom. He fell to his knees just in time.  
  
After a couple of minutes of hot, shaking, sweaty misery, he lifted his head, having regained a tenuous control, and saw Spike holding out a glass of water.   
  
Xander staggered to his feet, took the glass, and rinsed his mouth. He splashed more water on his face over the sink; when he turned off the tap Spike handed him a towel without comment, and he scrubbed his face dry. Spike took the towel back and dropped it in a hamper as Xander ran his hands over his damp hair, automatically looking up to check himself in the mirror - but there wasn't a mirror.  
  
"You'll do, Monkey Boy," Spike said.  
  
Xander knew he meant it kindly enough. Presumably, Buffy had given Spike The Lecture, forcefully explaining that she expected them all to get along, or else. He'd heard it, and he was sure Angel, and even Riley, had heard it, too. Up until now they'd been doing pretty well. But he was weary, his head felt like it was packed with sawdust, his stomach threatened to revolt again, the woman he loved hated him, and he was stuck in a house full of demons and vampires. This was just the last straw.  
  
"Spike, would you just stop calling me names?" he demanded angrily.   
  
Spike looked startled. Well, now I blew the truce, Xander thought. The big blood-sucking drama queen's not going to take that lying down; there'll be a big brangle and yelling and screaming and Buffy will blame me. He braced himself for the explosion.  
  
"All right," Spike said.   
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
Buffy stood hesitating on the landing outside Riley and Sam's bedroom. This was embarrassing. Mrs. Caprescu had checked on Sam and administered the anti-thrall potion about an hour previously, and since then there had been no sound from inside. They'd probably just fallen asleep or something. But she couldn't help thinking that maybe they needed to be alone. She certainly would have wanted more time with Spike if they'd been forcibly separated; in fact, she DID want more time with Spike. She didn't want to interrupt, well, an intimate moment.  
  
Spike and Angel stood with her on the landing, again, 'just in case.' Xander had managed to pull himself together, and gone off to the Magic box in response to Anya's demure request to take a professional look at the hole in the basement. Fred was conferring with Mrs. C over details of Amy's condition.  
  
"I guess I should talk to Sam as soon as possible," Buffy said reluctantly, her hand on the doorknob. "Do you think they need more time?"  
  
Angel's brows drew together. "Buffy, something's not right. I can't hear - "   
  
Spike looked at him, and he frowned, too. "He's right - best open the door, love."  
  
With a doubtful glance, she opened the door and entered; then she gasped audibly.   
  
"Buffy?" Spike called, concern in his voice. As she stood just inside the doorway, frozen in shock, he and Angel shouldered past her into the room.   
  
"Bloody, buggering, bollixing, sodding HELL!" Spike bellowed, sending an armchair crashing across the room with a vehement kick.   
  
The window stood open. The room was empty. Riley and Sam were gone.   
  
  
TBC  
  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -   
  
  
"If I the death of Love had deeply plann'd,  
I never could have made it half so sure,  
As by the unblest kisses which upbraid  
The full-waked sense; or failing that, degrade!  
'Tis morning: but no morning can restore  
What we have forfeited. I see no sin:  
The wrong is mix'd. In tragic life, God wot,  
No villain need be! Passions spin the plot:  
We are betray'd by what is false within."  
  
George Meredith 


	18. All I Might Have Been

Title: SAMARITAN  
Author: Ivytree  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy,   
etc. Except Mrs. C, Eddie, Zevra, Grak, Garg, and the rest of the demon   
gang...  
Feedback: Please!  
Summary: Sequel to Grandpa; A soul takes Spike places no one expected him to go.  
Setting: The near future; right about now, in fact!  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -   
  
SAMARITAN Pt. 18 All I Might Have Been  
  
  
"Spike, come on!" Angel cried, arms braced against the sides of the window frame.   
  
"Wait!" Buffy said. "I'm going with you - "  
  
"Buffy, no!" Angel said. "Don't you see it's a trick?"  
  
"That's what she wants, love," Spike said, the concern in his eyes almost masking his fury at Riley's betrayal. Almost. "They'll be expecting you - but they won't expect us," he added, with a frankly evil grin that belied his reasonable tone.   
  
  
She looked toward Angel in the faint hope that he was going to be sensible about this, but he was half out the window already.   
  
"We've got to be right behind them, Buffy," he said impatiently.  
  
  
She threw up her hands. Well - why not? They knew what they were doing. And vampires were immune to the Doctor's thrall, anyway. "Okay, go!" she said.  
  
Angel leaped to the small courtyard below, and Spike shot out the window right behind him. Buffy ran across the room and hung out over the sill.  
  
"Be careful!" she yelled after them as they bounded away, "Come right back! And don't get in any trouble!"  
  
Jeez, she sounded like their mom, not the damn Slayer. When did that happen?  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
Spike and Angel followed the trail straight across Mrs. Caprescu's courtyard to a rough wooden door resembling an old fashioned storm cellar. The tunnels. Naturally, it would be the tunnels. Convenient for the demon population, and all-too-convenient for escaping rogue commandos - or kidnappers, though there was no sign that Riley and Sam were coerced.   
  
Spike seethed. They'd been played for fools, all of them. Not only had he been tricked, but he'd also involved his friends and convinced them to lend their aid to an Initiative soldier. Resolutely, he wrestled his rage down; he needed a clear head for the chase. But when they found the bastard - that would be a different story.  
  
"I trusted that git," he growled, as the door rattled open and they slipped into the cool, earthy passage. "I believed him. Because he's a bloody human, I believed him."  
  
"Welcome to my world," Angel said, his eyes glinting gold.   
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
Buffy went slowly down the stairs, arms folded, and found Fred working over her laptop in the kitchen.   
  
"Where is everybody?" she said, trying to keep the plaintive tone from her voice. Now she knew how Dawn felt, always being the one left behind. No wonder she got snippy.   
  
"Mrs. Caprescu went to the grocery store, I think Clem is with Grak, and Charles is on his way back with some new information." Fred said, pushing her glasses up. "Where are the guys?"  
  
Buffy sat down at the table. "Well - Riley and Sam are gone. Vanished." She waved her arms. "Pffft, like that."  
  
"Oh, my lord! How did that happen? Were they kidnapped?"  
  
"Doesn't look like it. They just left. It's sort of, let's say, suspicion-y? Angel and Spike are tracking them." She scrabbled for a pretzel fragment from the bottom of the almost empty bowl. "They couldn't wait to jump right out the window."  
  
"Oh, that'll be fun for them!" Fred said with a cheerful smile. Then, at Buffy's inquiring look, she elaborated. "You know, being predators, and all; now that they're both good and everything, they can't really hunt anymore. At least, not people. Even though they're supposed to, but they're really not. Because that wouldn't be good."  
  
"Oh," Buffy said. "I never thought of that. I thought they just wanted some guy time."  
  
"More like vamp-time," Fred said.  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
Despite many decades apart, Spike and Angel swiftly and noiselessly tracked their quarry in familiar silence. First the spoor led through passages dug out of the ever-moist earth, and then into the inevitable disused service access areas, smelling of chipped paint and damp cement.   
  
Having the Old Man nearby, a dark shadow reflecting his every move, felt weirdly natural to Spike. They traveled at an easy lope on opposite sides of the murky corridor, with occasional glances and infinitesimal nods to confirm the discovery of clues. He perceived the dimensions of the tunnel quite clearly in the gloom, heard their own preternaturally light footfalls and the frail life-signs of rats, mice and chipmunks, and whatever else might inhabit the soil of Sunnydale, and caught an occasional whiff of an extraneous demon. But although he sensed his hunting partner's presence, there was no distracting heartbeat or blood-scent to interfere with the chase. It was almost relaxing.   
  
Relaxing, except for the tightness in his gut when he realized where they were headed. Any idea that Riley had taken his lost bride and simply run off quickly dissipated; he was quite clearly heading for the Doctor's lair.   
  
The question was, why? Just how far would Soldier Boy go?  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
"How much further?" Riley panted. Sam squeezed his big, warm hand. The tunnel was too dark to make out his features, but she knew his boyish face by heart, anyway. Nothing was better than adventuring together, just the two of them, and it made her heart sing after their separation.  
  
"We're close now," she said, her eyes darting along the wall opposite, searching for a particular landmark. They'd made it this far at a run; he kept looking back, but wouldn't tell her who might follow.  
  
She'd never been so happy in her life as when she woke to see him smiling over her, his eyes shining with relief. And she was free; she felt it at once. That terrible compulsion, that fog clouding her brain, was gone as if it had never existed. For a moment, her composure had cracked, and she'd thrown herself into his arms.   
  
"Finn!" Her voice broke on a sob. "Finn! I knew you'd come for me!"  
  
He held her tight, rocking her against him, and kissed her over and over, smoothing her tangled hair. Sam was in heaven; if she could stay here in his arms she'd never feel sorrow again, she thought. But after a few minutes he'd whispered, "Sam, I need you to do something for me."   
  
"Anything." She had smiled at him tremulously, trying to pull herself together. Dammit, she wasn't a crybaby. She was a soldier. "You know that."  
  
"This will be hard for you." His blue eyes were utterly sincere. "I need to see the Doctor. I need you to take me to her."   
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
Suddenly, Spike dove into a side passage and emerged clutching a tall, lanky demon, whom he threw roughly to the floor, keeping hold of one bony wrist. Angel melted into the shadows to observe.  
  
"Chalky," Spike said. "What the hell d'you think you're playing at?"  
  
The white-haired, white-skinned demon cringed. He had a prominent nose and a receding chin, and his black eyes were all that kept him from passing for a particularly scruffy and unattractive human. He wore torn, dirty jeans and an all too revealing tank top, and an elaborate filigree of black tattoos decorated his skinny white arms.   
  
"Are you following me?" Spike demanded.  
  
"I wouldn't do that, man!" Chalky whined. "I just happened to be going for a walk. You know, for my health." He tried to sit up, but Spike slammed him back down with a boot on his chest.   
  
"Now, why don't I believe you?" he said, his tawny eyes flickering dangerously. "Who are you working for, Chalky? Vinnie Teeth? Roger the Troll? Or maybe the Doctor?"  
  
"Doctor?" Chalky protested unconvincingly, and licked his lips. "What doctor? There's a doctor?"  
  
Angel's eyes met Spike's for a moment. Opportunity had knocked. He decided it was time for more pressure, and stepped forward out of the deepest gloom.   
  
"What's the holdup, Spike?" he said, ignoring Chalky's gasp of fear. "Who's this loser?"  
  
"Sodding rent-a-minion," Spike sneered. "Too dozy to be any good to us."  
  
Angel snatched up Chalky's other arm. "That doesn't mean he's got nothing of value," he chided. "You've got to think outside the box, Spike." He examined the demon's tattooed forearm. "Nice work."  
  
"Thanks. There's this shop in Demon Town - " Chalky began.  
  
Spike grinned suddenly, his fangs glinting. "See what you mean, mate," he said, looking carefully at the other arm. "These could fetch quite a price."  
  
"Which one do you like better?" Angel twisted the arm he held back and forth.  
  
"I don't know," Spike replied. "There's some good work on this one - artistic, like."  
  
"Maybe we should just take both. It might get messy, but cash is cash - "  
  
"HEY!" Chalky said desperately. "Hey, wait a minute, here! Take what? Are you guys nuts? What are you talking about?"  
  
"Shut up!" Spike gave him a kick. "You had your chance to make yourself useful." He looked at Angel. "Okay, on my signal, just pull - "  
  
"Hey, I was kidding!" Chalky yelled. "Kidding, all right? Sure, I know the Doctor. I'll take a message. No problem. I was going there right now, matter of fact; happy to oblige you two vam -, um, gentlemen."  
  
Spike hauled him up and held him by the scruff of the neck, glaring straight into his eyes. Angel loomed menacingly, and allowed a low rumble to escape his throat. Chalky's Adam's apple bobbed.   
  
"No tricks," Spike snarled. "We want to see the Doctor. You're taking us to her."  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
They followed their unwilling guide through earthen tunnels, and then what appeared to be the halls of a subterranean public building of some kind. Angel's brow - already ridged - furrowed in puzzlement. He'd been here before. What was it? There was a faint, distinct scent -  
  
"So," Chalky said, "you guys got business with the Doctor? 'Cause she don't deal with vamps much, I gotta tell you - nothing personal, but - "  
  
"She'll deal with us," Angel growled.  
  
"We'll make her an offer." Spike said expansively. "She won't refuse."   
  
Ambushed by a pop cultural reference he DID get, Angel shut his teeth hard on a snicker.  
  
Chalky peered back at them over his shoulder.  
  
"What kinda offer?" he said. "You better be careful. She drives a hard bargain. She don't kid around, know what I mean?"  
  
"We've got something she wants," Angel said.  
  
"Something she'll pay for - big," Spike added.  
  
"All due respect, you guys don't look like high rollers," the scrawny demon said. "What have you got to offer?"  
  
"The Slayer," Spike said.  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
"Okay, so just let me do the talking, okay?" Chalky whispered. "We gotta go through channels."  
  
"Don't screw with me, Chalky," Spike warned.  
  
They stood before a perfectly ordinary door; the demon rapped on it with bony knuckles.  
  
"Hey, uh, Garg? It's Chalky."   
  
The door opened, revealing the huge form of a Fyarl, who stood blocking the opening.  
  
"How ya doin,' Garg? I got two guys to see the boss. Important business. No kidding."   
  
The Fyarl stared at them impassively with dull red eyes. After a moment it moved clumsily back and opened the door wide.  
  
Spike and Angel followed Chalky into a dimly lit room that looked like it had once been an office. Garg closed the door behind them, and they saw that it was reinforced with steel - and an automatic lock.  
  
"Thanks, guy!" Chalky said, "I think the boss-lady will - ulp!" He grunted as the Fyarl's enormous hand - or whatever - landed on his shoulder. "Hey!"  
  
Several more Fyarls emerged from the darkness, and crowded around the two vampires, as Chalky was hauled away.   
  
One of the Fyarls grumbled something. Angel looked at Spike.   
  
"He says 'follow,'" Spike translated, with a shrug. They followed, escorted by at least six Fyarls, and were led to another ordinary door. The first Fyarl opened it, and spoke again.   
  
"He says 'wait,'" Spike said.   
  
The door opened on an ordinary looking supply closet, windowless, about ten feet square, lined with shelves and strewn with cleaning equipment that looked like it hadn't been used in years. They entered, and the door closed behind them. They looked at each other, dropping back to human form.   
  
And they waited.  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
"Okay," Sam whispered. "It's right there. Just wait and they'll see you. Don't present any threat."  
  
Riley held her by the shoulders, and said, "Wait here, and if I don't come in an hour, meet me at the helicopter landing spot near the dam, remember? Do not, under any circumstances, come after me."  
  
"But I might be able to - " she began.  
  
"No!" he kissed her hard, once. "I mean it. I couldn't stand it if she got to you again. Promise me."  
  
"If that's what you want."  
  
"After I'm done here, we'll go home, and everything will be like it was before. Don't worry." He would make it up to her, he swore.  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
"Go on, you know you want to," Angel said.  
  
"Shut up," Spike replied, pacing out the steps from wall to wall of their makeshift cell. In fact, it was a pretty poor choice for confining vampires, because there was a perfectly good ventilation duct near the ceiling within easy reach - for them, anyway - if they wanted to escape. Angel wondered if the Doctor's minions were really that stupid, or if this was some kind of test. Meanwhile, there was the problem of passing the time. He really didn't feel like meditating much nowadays - but there was one source of entertainment handy.  
  
"Oh, come on. 'Stone walls do not a prison make - " he said, priming the pump.  
  
Scowling, Spike finished the verse despite himself.  
  
"'Nor iron bars a cage;  
Minds innocent and quiet take  
That for an hermitage;  
If I have freedom in my love  
And in my soul am free,  
Angels alone, that soar above,  
Enjoy such liberty.'  
  
Happy now?" he said, resuming his prowling.   
  
"Kind of apropos, don't you think?"  
  
"Well, except for the 'innocent and quiet' part, I s'pose."  
  
There were some minutes of silence, broken only by Spike's perambulating footsteps.  
  
"Spike, will you cut that out?" Angel complained. "You're driving me insane. And you KNOW you don't want to see that."  
  
"Yeah, tell me about it," Spike said, sinking to the floor and propping his shoulders against the dusty wall. "Sorry." He patted his jacket pockets, found what he was looking for, and fished out one lone, battered cigarette. He broke it in half, and offered one half to Angel.   
  
"What the hell," Angel muttered, after a brief hesitation. "Thanks." With the cigarette between his lips, he leaned forward as Spike held out his lighter, and watched the tip brighten and glow.  
  
"How long d'you think we'll have to wait?" Spike said, with deliberate casualness.  
  
"A couple of hours, at least. She wants us to know how important she is."  
  
Spike exhaled a stream of smoke, and turned his lighter over and over in his fingers.  
  
"Just one thing," he said, examining the floor between his feet. "If I fall asleep, wake me up, right?"  
  
Angel shot him a keen glance. "Sure," he said calmly, "No problem."   
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
Riley stood near the entrance Sam had indicated, putting his hands in his pockets and striving to look unconcerned. He didn't have long to wait; the door opened and he was confronted by a green-skinned little Pakik demon, an obvious minion.  
  
"Yesssss?" the Pakik hissed.   
  
"I want to see the Doctor. She knows who I am."  
  
The demon considered him with curiously lifeless black eyes. Riley suppressed a shudder, thinking of Sam as he had seen her the night before, with that same dull expression. Then it shrugged, and opened the door.   
  
"Come," it said.   
  
Riley went through the door. It was lucky he had no intention of fighting his way out; before him was a room full of Fyarls.   
  
"Wait," the Pakik said. Six or seven Fyarls surrounded Riley, so he really had no choice but to wait. He saw the Pakik pad on three-toed feet through another door.  
  
After a few minutes the doorkeeper returned, and the Fyarls stood aside.   
  
"Come," it said again. Riley went.  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
"No."  
  
"Oh, come on. To pass the time. It'll keep us awake," Angel said insinuatingly. "I'm bored."  
  
"I don't remember any."  
  
"Yeah, right. Go on, Spike, a long one. With nature in it. And no Wordsworth."  
  
Spike frowned at his clasped hands, dangling between his upraised knees.  
  
"Oh, all right," he said ungraciously. "Worth it to stop you nattering."  
  
Ah. Angel closed his eyes, leaned his head back against the cement wall, and prepared to listen. It had been a long time.   
  
"O'Driscoll drove with a song  
The wild duck and the drake  
From the tall and the tufted reeds  
Of the drear Hart Lake.  
  
And he saw how the reeds grew dark  
At the coming of night-tide,  
And dreamed of the long dim hair  
Of Bridget his bride.  
  
He heard while he sang and dreamed  
A piper piping away,  
And never was piping so sad,  
And never was piping so gay..."   
  
Spike's deep voice was hushed and ordinary at first, but as he spoke it gradually expanded with all the subtle tonal colors of an orchestra. And as he listened, the voice swept Angel away from this dreary, musty room, this country still not his own, this hard century, and his own weary heart; and he drifted back to his sinless youth and the soft mists of his lost homeland, the way it once had been.  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
  
Riley followed the doorkeeper demon into an enormous, dimly lit room, with a wooden floor and bare walls rising up to a high ceiling lost in darkness. A miscellany of chairs and tables were shoved against the walls, and at one end was a dais, about three feet tall and fifteen feet wide. A desk stood on that, and behind it he could make out electronic equipment of some kind; he saw blinking green and red lights against the darkness.  
  
He surreptitiously looked around. The Doctor certainly couldn't be a Fyarl, or any of the dull-eyed demons who stood slackly around the room. Then suddenly he heard a slithering sound, like a snake would make. A very large snake.  
  
A cold feeling of dread seized him. Now that the time had come, he didn't want to look. But that was childish. He had a plan.  
  
"Well," a woman's voice said. "It must be my day for visitors."  
  
Slowly Riley turned his head toward the voice, and felt himself drawn closer.   
  
She was at the edge of the dais, so he had to look up. At first he could hardly make her out - there was something odd about her face, something very odd. And the way she stood - he swallowed a gasp.  
  
She had no legs, just a powerful, serpentine tail, on which she balanced, swaying slightly. A gleaming metal mask covered her head; he saw her eyes glitter behind it, but the mouth didn't move when she spoke.  
  
But that was not what made him cry out in terror, and fall to his knees, his heart hammering.  
  
Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God. It was impossible. He knew it was impossible.   
  
A dingy, stained lab coat hid the Doctor's torso. But her hands - strong, pale, capable - he knew those hands. That scar on the knuckle, where a dog had bitten her - she'd always been afraid of dogs.  
  
They were Maggie Walsh's hands.  
  
"Welcome, Agent Finn," the Doctor said.  
  
The world seemed to rush away as Riley heard himself scream.  
  
  
  
TBC  
  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
  
But you, my friend true-hearted -  
God keep our friendship green! -  
You know how I was parted  
From all I might have been.  
  
But what avails the ache of  
Remorse or weak regret?  
We'll battle for the sake of  
The men we might be yet!  
  
We'll strive to keep in sight of  
The brave, the true, and clean,  
And triumph yet in spite of  
The men we might have been.  
  
Henry Lawson  
  
  
  
A/N: Spike and Angel's poems are "To Althea from Prison" by Richard Lovelace and "The Host of the Air" by W. B. Yeats, both highly recommended. 


	19. The Wolf Shall Lap

Title: SAMARITAN  
Author: Ivytree  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc. Except Mrs. C, Eddie, Zevra, Grak, Garg, and the rest of the demon gang...  
Feedback: Please!  
Summary: Sequel to Grandpa; A soul takes Spike places no one expected him to go.  
Setting: The near future; right about now, in fact!  
  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
  
SAMARITAN Pt. 19 The Wolf Shall Lap  
  
  
"Okay, so those dice add up to seven, see?" Clem said. "Three on one face and four on the other. That makes seven. So you win!"  
  
"Add up?" Grak rumbled, every line of his great torso expressing puzzlement.  
  
"Yeah. You put the dots on one face together with the dots on the other face, and that's the number you threw. You win, see? 'Cause I got five, and you got seven."  
  
"Win good?" Grak said. Clem suppressed a sigh. Apparently his new pal still wasn't at his best and brightest - at least, he hoped he wasn't. He smiled encouragingly.  
  
"That's right!" he said, pushing a pile of battered pretzels across the floor. "Here's your winnings!"  
  
A rectangle of yellow light showed suddenly at the top of the stairs.   
  
"Clem?" It was Buffy's voice. An expression of unease crossed Grak's face.  
  
"Um, hi, Slayer - we're down here," Clem called out.  
  
There was a pause.  
  
"Can you spare me a minute, Clem?" Buffy said. "I don't want to come down and upset, uh, Grak."  
  
"Sure thing, Slayer! I'll be right back, okay, Grak?" Clem said, with a reassuring smile at the Fyarl, who sat moodily munching on his winnings. He scrambled to his feet, and mounted the stairs.   
  
"What can I do for you, Slayer?" he said.  
  
Buffy stood in the doorway with her arms folded, and a determined glow in her hazel eyes that made a chill run through his neck flaps.  
  
"Spike and Angel have been gone too long," she said. "I'm not waiting any more. We're going after them."  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
"O'Driscoll scattered the cards  
And out of his dream awoke:  
Old men and young men and young girls  
Were gone like a drifting smoke;  
  
But he heard high up in the air  
A piper piping away,  
And never was piping so sad,  
And never was piping so gay."  
  
As Spike's voice faded, so did Angel's memories of long ago waver and pass away, and he returned, reluctantly, to the dingy little room where they were confined.  
  
"One thing I'll say for Willie B.," Spike remarked, after a few moments' silence. "Just like going on holiday, isn't it? I can smell the bloody reeds, even in this rathole."  
  
"Yeah," Angel roused himself, and palmed the last of the mists from his eyes. "So can I."  
  
Spike rested his folded arms on his upraised knees.  
  
"Ever think of going back?" he said.  
  
"No. Everything must be so - changed."  
  
"Maybe that's better. Wouldn't remind you of anything."  
  
"It probably would, anyway." Angel stretched his legs out before him, crossing his ankles. "No one recites anymore. I kinda miss it."  
  
"Do me a favor," Spike snorted. "Bloody kids today can't even read. I don't know what they do teach 'em, but - "  
  
A scraping sound interrupted them. Suddenly both vampires were profoundly still, and two pairs of golden eyes fixed on the grate covering the ventilation duct. A rain of plaster dust fell from it to the floor, and the grate jerked outward, with surprisingly little noise. Then a broad, green face appeared in the opening, and Angel saw Spike relax back to his human visage.   
  
"Eddie! Fancy seeing you here," Spike said.  
  
"Hey, Spike," a gravelly voice responded. "How's tricks?"  
  
"Eddie, this is Angel; Angel, Eddie."  
  
"How ya doin'?" Eddie said politely.   
  
"I can't complain," Angel said. "And yourself?"  
  
"Not bad," Eddie replied. "You guys wanna escape?"  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
"Agent Finn," the Doctor's voice purred from behind the hideous metal mask, "You disappoint me. You're supposed to be a soldier."  
  
His heart pounding, Riley scuttled backwards across the floor until he hit a rickety chair, and the clatter of its fall recalled him to his senses somewhat. He stared up at the Doctor, her burnished face and white-clad torso swaying above a great reptilian tail. She had her hands - HER hands - in the pockets of her lab coat. He shuddered.  
  
"Who - who are you?" he said, struggling to keep control. "I don't believe - you're not - you're not - "  
  
"Oh, but I am. She is. We are." What the hell did that mean? But that wasn't her voice, it wasn't, he was sure. He knew her voice as well as his own mother's.  
  
"I don't believe you," he said boldly. "If you're - if you're her, then take off the mask. Show me."  
  
He didn't know what he expected, but it wasn't laughter.  
  
"I don't think I can do that, Agent Finn," she said, slithering closer to the edge of the platform with a sickening, scaly rustle. Another jolt of horror shot through him as he saw dark, human eyes peering at him from behind the bronze. But Maggie Walsh's eyes had been blue, hadn't they? He struggled to remember. "You see," she went on, her tone musical and insinuating, "this is not a mask..."  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
  
"Ta very much, Eddie, but no," Spike said. "The plan is to actually see this Doctor bird, find out what's going down, find out what Grunt Boy's up to - "  
  
"And then deal with it," Angel finished, setting his jaw.  
  
"Okay, I get it. Better get a move on, then. The Slayer's coming."   
  
Spike swore.   
  
"Well, we should have thought of that, I guess," Angel said, with resignation.   
  
"We'll just hurry the bint along, then," Spike said, rising and starting to pace again. "We can get out of here easily enough. I want to know what that bastard's plan is - and then rip out his spine." Angel raised an eyebrow, and he added, "Figuratively speaking, of course."  
  
"We got a guy on the inside, just so's you know," Eddie said. "Any trouble, he'll help you out. And we got these." He tossed down two small objects, and Angel crossed the room to pick one up. "Secret weapon. Case of emergency."   
  
"Hey, cool!" Angel said, examining the item he'd retrieved.  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
Bearing a gleaming sword before her, with a crossbow slung across her back, Buffy led her well-armed troops through the damp, dimly lit tunnels. She hated these stupid tunnels. Why couldn't the big bads ever set up lairs above ground? Come to think of it, the only one who'd done that was Spike - the original "no-limits" guy. Turning a particularly obscure corner, she abruptly halted, causing Xander to bump into her from behind, Gunn to bump into Xander, and Clem to bump into Gunn, with clanking weapons and remonstrances all around.   
  
"Sam?" Buffy exclaimed, ignoring the commotion.  
  
"Buffy? Xander?" The dark-haired girl rose from the shadows where she'd been sitting against the wall. She looked pale, and her clothes and face were dirty. "What are you doing here?"  
  
Buffy was momentarily dumbfounded. Then she felt her temper rise. What was SHE doing here? This was her town, dammit. Sam was the one who'd come romping back here with Riley in tow, uninvited, and triggered all this turmoil.   
  
"Where's Riley?" she demanded.  
  
"He went in," Sam said, in a distracted voice, obviously unaware of Buffy's ire. "He needed to see the Doctor for something - "  
  
"I bet he did," Xander said.  
  
"He told me to wait here," Sam said, pushing her hair back from her face with unsteady fingers, "but he's been gone a long time. I'm worried."  
  
"You're WORRIED?" Buffy said, trying to curb her irritation. None of this was Sam's fault, really, she supposed. The truth was, her nerves were taut with concern over Spike. She tried to moderate her tone. "How much do you remember?"  
  
"Not that much." Sam's dark eyes were shadowed. "It was sort of like being in a cloud all the time. I heard her in my mind, and I couldn't do anything except what she told me. I felt so alone." She shivered, and hugged herself. "But deep down I knew he'd come for me, I just knew it."   
  
"Romantic," Xander said, swinging a very large axe up to rest on his shoulder. "Touching, even. Did Sir Lancelot du Lac happen to mention asking US for help?"  
  
"N-no," she said. "He said he paid that demon lady to fix the spell - "  
  
"He said he WHAT!?" Clem exclaimed, his usually pacific demeanor giving way to wrath. Buffy squeezed his arm.  
  
"She doesn't mean that, Clem," she said. "Sam, Riley came to us asking for help to find you. Mrs. Caprescu was just doing us a favor; she wouldn't dream of taking money for something like that. And Riley never said anything about 'business' with the Doctor."  
  
"Oh!" Sam looked confused. "I'm sorry - maybe I didn't understand what he said..."  
  
Buffy bit back a sharp retort. "Well, there's no time for this now," she said. "We've got to find Spike and Angel. And Riley, whatever he's up to. Where did he go, Sam?"  
  
"There's an entrance about fifteen feet that way." Sam pointed down the hallway. "But you can't get in if you're armed."  
  
"We'll see about that," Buffy said, her lips pressed into a firm line.   
  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
"But enough of this badinage," the Doctor said abruptly. "I have other appointments. You came to me with an offer. What do you want in return?"  
  
Riley gulped. Right. Right, the trade. They each had something the other wanted. And then it would all be like it was; he would take Sam and shake the dust of this town off his feet for good, and never look back. Never look back.   
  
"I want - " he swallowed, and made himself sound confident. "I want those eggs."  
  
"But the eggs were destroyed, weren't they?" Her voice held an almost caressing tone. It made the hair stand up on his arms.  
  
"You know those weren't Suovolte eggs," he scoffed, in a show of bravado. "You've still got them."  
  
"Perhaps so. And for the eggs, you're willing to give me - ?" He couldn't tell from that immobile facade, but she sounded as if she were smiling.  
  
"The Slayer."  
  
She hissed in apparent satisfaction.   
  
"Yes," she said softly. "The Slayer. Mine, at last!"  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
"So what's this weapon, then?" Spike asked. In answer, Angel tossed him one of the objects. It was made of clear green plastic, and fit neatly in his palm. It was, in fact, a strangely familiar looking water pistol. And it was filled with a murky liquid -  
  
"Not holy water, is it?" he said, holding the toy by its trigger with two fingers.  
  
"Mrs. C's triple-strength, grade-A anti-thrall potion," Eddie said. "Instant, and permanent."  
  
"Good lord, that's bloody brilliant!" Spike turned the flimsy pistol around in his hands with more respect.  
  
"And Doctor won't get far with no minions," Angel said.  
  
"Brilliant," Spike said again. "Well, thanks loads, mate. These'll come in right handy."  
  
"We'd better get going, I guess," Angel said, tucking his pistol away in the inner pocket of his jacket. "Good to meet you, Eddie."  
  
"Same here. Catch you again sometime," Eddie replied. "See ya, Spike." He inched backwards along the ventilation shaft, pulling the grate up after him. Spike took hold of it and pressed it firmly into the crumbling plaster.   
  
"Well, that'll hold for about ten minutes," he remarked, and turned toward the door with a grin for his grand-sire. Poetry was all very well, but he was bored with waiting. Action was better. "Shall we?"  
  
"After you," Angel said politely. Spike took a firm grip of the door handle and gave it a powerful pull, as Angel spun and kicked the hinges. With a rather puny crack, the hollow-core door split down the middle. They pulled the broken pieces from their moorings and tossed them to the floor.   
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
Buffy stood casually near the entrance to the Doctor's hideout, the point of her sword resting on the floor and her hands folded over the pommel.   
  
After a few moments, she heard the metallic clunk of a lock, and the door opened partway. A small, reptilian looking demon peeked out, clutching the edge with spindly little fingers.   
  
"Yesss?" it said, its black eyes unwavering.  
  
"She's expecting me," Buffy said firmly.  
  
The doorkeeper gazed at her, and blinked once, slowly. Then it stood back and let the door swing wide.   
  
"Welcome, Ssslayer," it said.  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
"Your offer is tempting, Agent Finn," the Doctor said, "most tempting. But perhaps it would surprise you to know that I've had a competing offer."  
  
"What?" Riley said, confused. What was that supposed to mean? Why couldn't she just say what she was going to say right out? God, he hated demons (if that's what she was). They were never straight with you.  
  
"You're not the only entrepreneur in town, it seems," she said. He heard an undertone of amusement in her voice, damn her. "Others have approached me with a similar offer."  
  
"Well, they must be bluffing," he said defiantly. He needed those eggs. Those eggs were his ticket home. "I'm the one you need to deal with. If you - if you know what Professor Walsh knew, you'll know that. I'm the one who can deliver the Slayer." He set his shoulders, and faced her. "She trusts me."  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
Buffy stepped through the door, but not all the way through, and as she did so a crowd of ten or so dull-eyed Fyarls pressed toward her.  
  
"Come," the doorkeeper said.  
  
"Sure, I'll come," she said, smiling. "But not alone. You with me, guys?"  
  
All at once Gunn, Xander and Clem appeared behind her shoulder, super-soakers raised.   
  
"And we're packing major heat," Gunn said.  
  
"Or, make that major wet," Xander amended.  
  
"So stop right where you are!" Clem chimed in.   
  
The Fyarls hesitated for a moment, but then kept coming. Buffy prudently ducked as the three of them took aim and squirted high-powered streams of cloudy, spicy-smelling liquid at the enormous guards.   
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
Standing behind the door to the Doctor's throne room (or whatever it was), Spike heard the Cub Scout boast, "She trusts me."   
  
A growl of fury erupted from deep in his throat, and a red film blurred his vision. Angel's hold on his arm was all that kept him from bursting in and tearing the bastard's head off, chip or no chip.   
  
After a few seconds struggle with himself, he won back control, and gave Angel slight nod. Side by side they set their shoulders to the door, and with one push forced it with surprising ease. As it swung inward, Spike wondered briefly where all the Fyarls had gone.   
  
They sauntered into the huge room, both in full game face, and saw their quarry, half cowering by the foot of a platform. And then they saw her, and knew why he cowered. Even Spike had to keep himself from flinching. What the bloody hell was that thing? He shot a glance at Angel, whose dark eyes were fixed on the creature.  
  
"Chimera," Angel whispered, barely moving his lips, and too softly for any but vampire ears to hear. "Now we know what she wants Buffy for."  
  
Spike felt his blood, hot with rage at Riley's perfidy, abruptly chill.  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
The effects of the anti-thrall potion were gratifying, and immediate. One after another, the great horned demons crashed down, unconscious. Buffy could actually feel the floor shake beneath her feet, and in just a few minutes, the room was piled high with unconscious Fyarls.   
  
"Wow!" she breathed, as the last aftershocks faded. "Mrs. Caprescu rocks!"  
  
"Man, I gotta take some of this stuff home with me," Gunn said. "At first I felt kind of silly, with a squirtgun and all, but this is downright awesome. L.A. demons won't know what hit 'em."  
  
"Yeah, feel the power that is us!" Xander said. "By the way, that is no mere squirtgun, my friend, but a Super Soaker Super Charger Monster. Extra size, extra force, with a cherry glitter finish. And my trusty weapon is nowhere near empty, so bring on the minions, say I."  
  
"I hope they'll be okay." Clem surveyed the Fyarls, his brow wrinkling even more than usual. "Some of these guys might be Grak's relatives."  
  
The Pakik demon who had opened the door rose from the corner of the room, where it had hidden when the shooting started.   
  
"Quickly, this way, Ssslayer," it said.  
  
Buffy spun around to face it, and saw that its eyes were now bright and aware.   
  
"You must move quickly. Your weapons will serve very well against enthralled minions, but ssstill you must fight. Ssshe also employs villains who work for pay."  
  
"Oh, really? Does that include you?" Xander challenged, brandishing his axe again.  
  
"I am neither villain nor for hire," the Pakik replied, looking him up and down with hauteur.   
  
"Oh," Xander said.   
  
"Where's Spike?" Buffy said.  
  
The little creature seemed to ponder for a moment.   
  
"He isss with her now, with the other," it said, "and the human. Hurry. The vampires are coming."   
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
"Well, well, well," Angel said, strolling forward, hands dug in his pockets. "Our little lost lamb."  
  
"Hope you're not taking this git too seriously," Spike said. "Since he's just double-crossed us, I wouldn't exactly trust his word."  
  
"Really?" the Doctor said, in a disappointed tone. "He's got such an honest face."  
  
"Just what a liar needs," Spike snapped, lunging toward Riley. When Angel shouldered him aside, he stood tensely, poised to retaliate, his golden eyes alight with fury.  
  
"Back off, Spike," Angel growled, staring him down. "He's mine."  
  
Shrugging, Spike stepped back a pace, with a sulky expression on his face. Angel floored Riley with a lightning fast blow, then seized his collar in a firm grip and hauled him to his feet again.  
  
"This was not our deal, Finn," he hissed into his ear. "I offered you a cut, not the whole pot. Pay attention!" As Riley wiped away the blood that trickled from his nose with one hand, Angel punched him in the ribs. "Spike can tell you - from experience - that I don't like people who lie to me."  
  
"Gets right peevish," Spike confirmed, polishing his nails on his lapel and examining the results. "Liable to fly off the handle."  
  
"I don't know what the hell you two are talking about!" Riley protested. "What - ?" His voice cut off as Angel punched him again.  
  
"Shut up!" Angel said, his lips pulled back from his fangs in a feral snarl. "WE deliver the Slayer to the Doctor! It was OUR plan! You offered your little demon girl as a guide - for pay. That's all."  
  
"And we don't really feature letting a cheap scuzz like you cut into our cash flow," Spike added. He turned to the Doctor. "You know how it is, I expect, missus," he said. "Lackeys get out of line sometimes. Have to be taught a lesson."  
  
"Oh, I know exactly what you mean," she said pleasantly. "So I should be dealing with you, then?"  
  
He grinned up at her. "If you want the Slayer."  
  
  
TBC  
  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
  
  
"Where shall the traitor rest,  
He, the deceiver,  
Who could win maiden's breast,  
  
Ruin, and leave her?  
In the lost battle,  
Borne down by the flying,  
Where mingles war's rattle  
With groans of the dying;  
Eleu loro  
There shall he be lying.  
  
Her wing shall the eagle flap  
O'er the falsehearted;  
His warm blood the wolf shall lap  
Ere life be parted:  
Shame and dishonour sit  
By his grave ever;  
Blessing shall hallow it   
Never, O never!  
Eleu loro  
Never, O never!"  
  
Sir Walter Scott 


	20. A Wannish Fire

Title: SAMARITAN  
Author: Ivytree  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc. Except Mrs. C, Eddie, Zevra, Grak, Garg, and the rest of the demon gang...  
Feedback: Please!  
Summary: Sequel to Grandpa; A soul takes Spike places no one expected him to go.  
Setting: The near future; right about now, in fact!  
  
A/N: Sorry for the delay, guys. First we had the Big Computer Upgrade, and then the Big Modem Crash.   
  
So, this is where we are now: Spike has gathered a group of good demons to stop the nefarious machinations of that Josephine of Crime, the Doctor (the real Doctor, of course), with the help of Clem's mom, Mrs. Caprescu. Just as Spike and Buffy are becoming reconciled, Riley shows up looking for Sam. He fears that she's been enthralled by the Doctor, since she's half-demon. Spike calls the AI gang in for help, because the Doctor can enthrall everyone but humans and vampires. Angel, Gunn, Spike, and Buffy go looking for Sam in the Sunnydale underground. Spike and Buffy find Sam, but Angel and Gunn find Amy, who's turning back into a rat. Mrs. C doses both of them with an anti-thrall potion, but before our heroes get to question Sam, Riley takes her and runs off. Spike and Angel follow, and find that he's heading straight to the Doctor's lair. They trail him there, and, when they're captured, they pretend to sell Buffy to the Doctor – which is just what Riley's doing. Meanwhile, feeling her favorite vamps have been gone too long, Buffy mounts a rescue operation, and fights her way into the Doctor's lair, accompanied by Xander, Clem, and Gunn. Oh, and the good guys have squirt guns filled with anti-thrall potion, and an agent on the inside.  
  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
  
SAMARITAN Part 20 A Wannish Fire  
  
  
"Hurry! The vampires are coming!"   
  
"Whoa! Vampires?" Gunn said. "I thought she didn't work with vampires."  
  
"They cannot be enthralled," the little doorkeeper replied, "but they can be hired. In numbers."  
  
"Well, goody, bring on the vamps!" Buffy said. "At least they're normal, instead of being all glassy-eyed and lifeless, like these stupid minions. That is - I mean - well, you know what I mean."  
  
"And that, ladies and gentlemen, is life on the Hellmouth. We're GLAD to see vampires now. Come on down and party, you undead fiends!" Xander sighed. "Back to the old crossbow, I guess. Darn. I love me some hi-tech weaponry."  
  
"Not me. I like a nice axe," Clem said, brandishing a particularly imposing one. "Keeps the nasty things at arm's length."  
  
"You must come thisss way," the Pikak insisted.  
  
"That's okay, bud," Xander said, dropping a hand on the creature's shoulder, causing it to jump in surprise, which was quickly followed by distaste, and it stared pointedly at Xander's hand till he removed it. "We know where we're going."  
  
Buffy grinned at him. "Figured it out, huh?"  
  
"Yep. It's the smell that did it. Once sniffed, never forgotten."  
  
"You two want to share with the group?" Gunn said.  
  
"The little gray cells have come alive. The proverbial penny has dropped."  
  
"We know where we are." Buffy fished a small object out of her pocket and held it out on a flat palm. "When Spike and I caught Grak, I found this. I knew it reminded me of something, and I finally recognized it."  
  
Gunn and Clem looked at the small fragment of ceramic tile resting on her hand. It was finished in a hard, glossy pale pink.  
  
"Well, it doesn't exactly speak volumes." Gunn turned the tile over. "What is it?"   
  
Buffy smiled, and closed her fist around it. "It's a piece of the Sunnydale High School girls' locker room wall. And we're in the gym teachers' offices right now - Miss Parkinson's desk was right over there."  
  
"When we blew it up, part of the building must have slid underground and mooshed together with the rest of subterranean Sunnydale," Xander said. "'Mooshing' is, of course, a highly technical term we contractors use."  
  
"I thought you burned down the high school," Gunn protested.  
  
"No, that was the first one," Buffy said. "That was just me. And, you know, the vamps."  
  
"Yeah, we blew this one up. Ah, the dear old innocent days of youth," Xander said, shouldering his axe. "So I'm guessing they're in the gym, doncha think? High ceilings and plenty of room for unprovoked violence? Arch Enemies always go for that."  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
The Doctor turned from Angel to face Spike, her torso moving stiffly, and he saw speculation in those dark, glittering eyes. Her unnatural shape – not quite human, not quite animal, not quite robot - made the hairs on the back of his neck rise. Some things were monstrous even to vampires. But he and Angel still held one advantage - she was used to reading the minds of her minions and other demons, but she couldn't read theirs.  
  
"Two vampires, working together," the chimera purred, with a slight swaying motion that was hypnotic and vaguely stomach-turning. "This is very unusual."  
  
"Well, don't judge by the ones you've seen 'round here, love," Spike said, in a tone of confidence, "Losers, the pack of 'em. The two of us, we're professionals."  
  
"You dead bastards, I knew you'd turn on her!" Riley spat, struggling in Angel's grasp. Spike couldn't restrain a growl, but Angel ignored the interruption.   
  
"That's right, uh, ma'am. We've been around a while," he said, casually shoving Riley to the floor and planting a heavy boot on the back of his neck.   
  
"Pulled off some big jobs in our time," Spike added, eying this performance with satisfaction. With his windpipe compressed under Angel's heel, Riley's eyes bulged and his face grew flushed. Spike allowed himself to gloat. When the Old Man taught somebody a lesson, they didn't forget it in a hurry.  
  
"In other words, we know what we're doing," Angel continued.   
  
"I see." The Doctor folded her arms and tapped the fingers of one hand thoughtfully against her sleeve. "And if you present me with the Slayer, what do you want in return?"  
  
"Cash," Angel responded instantly, easing his weight off Riley's neck. Spike watched Grunt Boy's gasps subside and his face return to its usual pasty color. Oh, well. "Cold, hard cash. In hand."  
  
"What, no mystical orbs? No magical artifacts? No... eggs?" Her voice was musical, and the light glittered on her immobile features.   
  
"No, thanks, we'll just take money," Spike said. "If we want any of that bollocks we'll nick it ourselves."  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
"It's just around this corner," Buffy said, proceeding assuredly down the hallway, past mounds of rubble, disused sports equipment, and shattered display cases spilling out their bronze trophies. "There are three sets of double doors - at least, there were. And windows. God knows what happened to them. And we still don't know which way the vampires are..."  
  
"Ah - Buff?" Xander said.  
  
Slowing her pace, she turned with an inquiringly glance.   
  
"I think they're coming from THAT way," he said, swiveling to the left and swinging his crossbow to his shoulder. She whirled, sword aloft, as he got off a quick shot, reloaded, and fired again. Gunn and Clem sprang into action, blades flashing. Then the vampires came - in numbers.  
  
Grunts and cries filled the hallway, and soon the air was hazy with dust. Buffy heard the thunk of Xander's crossbow, and sliced through neck after neck herself. But they just kept coming on; there must have been dozens.  
  
She knew they would soon be overpowered. Striving to turn back, she heard Gunn groan behind her, and Clem exclaim, "Hey! Ow!" Then strong, cold hands seized her from behind, and forced her to her knees. At first Buffy struggled fiercely, but then she realize that, oddly, none of the vampires made any move to bite or even injure her. She stopped resisting; if the vamps had planned to kill them, they would have done it by now. Now all she could do was wait, and watch for a chance to break free. From her position on the floor, she could see Xander, Gunn, and Clem, bruised, but alive.   
  
One vamp stood directly before her, holding her sword. He was pudgy and dressed in what appeared to be a golf outfit, complete with polo shirt, cardigan, and plaid pants, which looked particularly silly, since he was in vamp-face. But he seemed to have pretensions to leadership.  
  
"So," Buffy said, eying him with contempt. "Now what, Arnold?"  
  
The fat little vamp grinned. "I prefer Tiger, actually."  
  
She snorted. "You wish."  
  
"Yes, well, be that as it may," he said. "Now we present you to the Boss Lady, and retire to fight another day, with wads of cash stuffed in our pockets."  
  
"That's pretty lame, isn't it?" Xander said. "Aren't you guys supposed to, like, kill people, not sell them out for money?"   
  
"Yeah, this is just sad, man," Gunn said.  
  
"You're giving demon kind a bad name," Clem added.  
  
"What can I say?" Tiger half bowed. "This is the twenty-first century, and I'm a progressive kind of guy. I'm going with the flow. So, move it, sis. You're off to see the wizard. Or, make that the wicked witch." He grinned again, at some joke of his own, and motioned to his minions. "Boys?"   
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
"So how much for the Slayer?" Spike said.  
  
The Doctor appeared to think it over. "What are you asking?"  
  
Spike met Angel's impassive gaze, and shrugged.  
  
"Well, she's priceless, really, wouldn't you say?"   
  
Still pinning Riley to the floor, Angel thrust his hands into his coat pockets. "How much can you afford?"  
  
"Give you a cash discount, of course," Spike added. "Saves us time and trouble, doesn't it? No middleman to gum up the works."  
  
"Sure," Angel said, shrugging. "We could go elsewhere, but think of the convenience. We're here - you're here..."  
  
"And SHE'S here!" the Doctor snapped. Spike could have sworn her eyes narrowed behind the polished mask of her face. "She's here now. I can feel it!"  
  
"'Course she is," he improvised. Drat the Slayer, anyway. But she wasn't the sort of girl to wait by the fireside tending her knitting, was she? He should have known she'd come riding to their rescue. "Told you we'd deliver her, didn't we?"  
  
The double doors to the right of the platform crashed open.  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
A mob of unkempt vampires swarmed in, holding Buffy, Xander, Gunn, and Clem. They'd been disarmed and roughed up, but seemed okay. Spike shot a quick look at Angel, who returned it without visible emotion. Then he forced himself to stand rigidly still as several vamps manhandled Buffy to the front of the room. Would she give them away, or would she grasp what they were doing, and play along? He saw her eyes widen in shock as she became aware of Angel standing beside him, with Riley pinned underfoot. He felt a pang of uncertainty; surely she'd known they were here? If not, why had she come?  
  
With a desperate heave, Riley suddenly wrenched himself free. "They're selling you out, Buffy!" he screamed. "You can't trust them – I told you not to trust them! It was all a scam to get you here!"  
  
"Riley? What are you doing here?" she said, looking confused. "What are you talking about?"  
  
Ice trickling down his spine, Spike stood locked in place as Riley scrabbled toward her across the floor, saying, "They're not human, Buffy. They look human, but they're not. They're demons. They're evil. They're all evil. They'll sell you out as soon as look at you…"   
  
"I thought I told you to shut up, Finn." Angel, his golden eyes ablaze with fury, seized Riley by the neck, hauled him back, and shook him like a terrier shaking a rat. "Remember our little talk?" Riley gurgled and collapsed face down on the floor. "Soon I might start getting annoyed."   
  
"Angel, no!" Buffy cried. He turned on her with a snarl. She looked from Angel to Spike, her hazel eyes luminous with tears. "Oh, no," she whispered. "Oh, Spike… How could you?"  
  
Time stopped for a moment. Spike wondered if perhaps he had turned to stone. So. She believed it, then. A human said it, and she believed him.   
  
Pain swelled in his chest, right where his silent heart lay, a curbed agony straining for release. But not now. Now he had to keep his head. Later she would know the truth; later she would understand. He forced his frozen body to move, and managed a credible swagger in Buffy's direction.  
  
"Come, now, Slayer, don't go all mushy on me," he said, grinning. He recognized her sword – her sword! - in the dirty hand of a vamp dressed for the golf course, of all things, who stood watching appreciatively. Pillock. As he neared, he snatched the sword and stiff-armed the duffer backward with a snarl. At the look in his eyes, the others holding Buffy stepped back a pace. "Winding you up, weren't we? After all – like the man says – us demons, you humans. Two don't really mix, do they?"  
  
He brought the sword-point up to her cheek, with a smile, his heart like ice. He felt as if the skin on his chest, his arms, and his face were stiffening with frost. "I bagged two slayers already, love," he said. "Should have known I'd get you eventually."  
  
She looked up at him, her jaw set. "You're a pig, Spike!" she spat.  
  
She looked so beautiful. Her face was flushed with anger, and her lustrous hair, loose and disordered, tumbled over her shoulders. She met his sneer with a proud lift to her head and an expression of disdain on her face. Mastering the ache in his breast, Spike resolutely met her gaze.   
  
And, as he did, she lowered her right eyelid in an almost imperceptible wink.  
  
  
TBC  
  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
  
"She seem'd, at once, some penanced lady elf,  
Some demon's mistress, or the demon's self.  
Upon her crest she wore a wannish fire  
Sprinkled with stars, like Ariadne's tiar:  
Her head was serpent, but ah, bitter-sweet!  
She had a woman's mouth with all its pearls complete:  
And for her eyes: what could such eyes do there  
But weep, and weep, that they were born so fair?  
As Proserpine still weeps for her Sicilian air.  
Her throat was serpent, but the words she spake  
Came, as through bubbling honey…"  
  
John Keats, Lamia 


	21. Through the Liquid Night

Title: SAMARITAN

Author: Ivytree

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc. Except Mrs. C, Eddie, Zevra, Grak, Garg, and the rest of the demon gang...

Feedback: Please!

Summary: Sequel to Grandpa; A soul takes Spike places no one expected him to go.

Setting: Hey, it's the Samaritan-verse!

To date: Spike has gathered a group of good demons to stop the nefarious machinations of that Josephine of Crime, the Doctor (the real Doctor, of course), with the help of Clem's mom, Mrs. Caprescu. Just as Spike and Buffy are becoming reconciled, Riley shows up looking for Sam, who's been enthralled by the mysterious Doctor, since she's half-demon. Spike calls the AI gang in for help, because the Doctor can enthrall everyone but humans and vampires. Angel, Gunn, Spike, and Buffy go looking for Sam in the Sunnydale underground. Spike and Buffy find Sam, but Angel and Gunn find Amy, who's turning back into a rat. Mrs. C doses both of them with an anti-thrall potion, but before our heroes get to question Sam, Riley takes her and runs off. Spike and Angel follow, and trail him straight to the Doctor's lair—the old high school gym, now part of subterranean Sunnydale. They pretend to sell Buffy to the Doctor—which is just what Riley tries to do. Meanwhile, Buffy mounts a rescue operation, and fights her way into the Doctor's hideout, accompanied by Xander, Clem, and Gunn. Oh, and the good guys have squirt guns filled with anti-thrall potion, which works against the Doctor's army of Fyarls and other demons. Unfortunately, it turns out the Doctor has a gang of vampire mercenaries working for her, too, and they capture Buffy.

Now, everyone comes face to face in the gym/lair. 

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

SAMARITAN  Part 21  Through the Liquid Night

Buffy looked up at him, her jaw set. "You're a pig, Spike!" she spat.  
  
She looked so beautiful. Her face was flushed with anger, and her lustrous hair, loose and disordered, tumbled over her shoulders. She met his sneer with a proud lift to her head and an expression of disdain on her face. Mastering the ache in his breast, Spike resolutely met her gaze.   
  
And as he did, she lowered her right eyelid in an almost imperceptible wink.

For a moment, Spike stood paralyzed. Scorching heat fizzed through his body; he felt as if he'd swallowed the sun. Repressing a shudder, he tried to keep his face a blank.

"Sorry, Slayer," he jeered, with barely a quiver in his voice, "You lose." He kept the sword-point to her cheek, and addressed the Doctor, deliberately turning his back on the restless mob of rag-tag vampires crowding around them. "See, missus? No welshing. We keep our bargains. Satisfaction bloody guaranteed. Now, how do you want to take delivery? Dead or alive?"

"You could never beat me in a fair fight, so you do this?" Buffy snapped, cheeks flushed and bosom heaving, playing up to him like the heroine of a melodrama. He had no idea she was such a cracking actress. "I never thought you were a coward, Spike!"

"Shut up!" He seized her in a rough grip—and then kept his fingers wrapped around her slim, toned, warm upper arm.

"Don't damage her!" The chimera's tail made a repulsive scratching sound as she suddenly slid closer across the platform. "I need her whole, and in good working order."

Tiger, the pudgy, self-appointed leader of the vampire horde, edged forward, carefully avoiding both Spike and Angel. "What should we do with the rest of 'em, boss lady?" he said, with a jerk of his head toward Xander, Clem, and Gunn. "We've got some bucks coming, too."

The creature shrugged. "Kill them. But take them away somewhere; I don't want a mess. Then you may return for your pay."

"Wait a minute—what about OUR pay?" Angel said, adding, with a kick aimed at Riley, "And I'll dispose of this one for free."

"Why, thank you—his sniveling has become annoying." Her tone was gracious.

"Hey," Angel said, hoisting Riley up by the collar, his face twisted into a feral smile, "it's my pleasure, ma'am."

The chimera's enigmatic dark eyes rested on Angel, who gazed back impassively. Neither one was giving much away. "I might have some work for you in the future…" She swung around to glare at Tiger. "What are you waiting for? Go!" she snapped.

"I dunno," Tiger replied, signalling to his minions with a nod. The captives were hauled roughly to their feet; "I think we'd rather have our dough upfront, if it's all the same to you." The vampires muttered their agreement, and surged closer to Buffy. Spike's eyes narrowed. Dissention in the ranks; this could prove awkward. Or useful. But dangerous, either way.

The Doctor's torso wavered. Behind her, the old Initiative machine's lighted dials flickered inscrutably. "What?"

"Nothing personal, ma'am," Tiger continued, an insolent curl to his lip, "but we operate on a cash-only basis, know what I mean?"

"Now, that's just rude," Spike remarked. He balanced the sword point on the floor and leaned his forearm on the hilt, surreptitiously loosening his hold on Buffy's arm. Could be they'd have to do without reinforcements, after all, if this lot decided to defy their boss. Tiger was showing unexpected depths of crookedness. "See, that's what comes of dealing with amateurs—no standards. No professional ethics."

The Doctor stared down at the undead golf enthusiast, tail twitching. "You will obey me instantly, or face the Fyarls!"

Tiger scratched his cheek. "Well, see, there's the thing," he drawled. "The Fyarls aren't exactly in the picture anymore, 'cause the young lady here took 'em out."

"Hey, we helped," Gunn protested. 

"I got at least six!" Clem said. "They were dropping like flies! Only heavier."

"Yeah, check out the notches on our squirt guns," Xander added.

"Silence!" the Doctor snarled. "What are you talking about?"

"See for yourself. Call 'em—they won't come. So if you ain't paying top dollar for the Slayer and her pals—in cash—well, maybe we can find somebody who is. Get it?" Tiger turned to his followers. "Who do you guys know who'll fork over good money for the Slayer?"

With a desperate heave, Riley squirmed from Angel's grasp. "I will!" he gasped. "I know people, people who've got more money than you ever dreamed of. They would…"

With a low growl, Angel attacked, flattening Riley with three lightning blows and, as he hit the floor, a savage kick to the kidney. Spike watched with interest as Angel drew his leg back for another kick, but Buffy gasped and cried, "Angel, NO!"

There was a moment of silence as Angel stood over Riley's limp form, his face blank. He flicked a glance upward and caught Spike's eye for a moment, then glowered at the ragged horde facing him. That's right, granddad, stall. What they needed now was time. Well, there was always palaver; that could be drawn out indefinitely. 

"You know, kiddies, we don't like people—even a half-arsed, half-witted gaggle of wankers like you lot—horning in on our territory," he said in a conversational tone. "Bad for business. Bad for our rep. Bad all 'round. Sometimes…" he swung Buffy's gleaming sword up in a flashing arc, and the scruffy vampires instinctively ducked backward, "…sometimes we lose our tempers." He swept the sword back and forth in the air with a swooshing sound. "Then messy things tend to happen. The lady's floor might get all covered with nasty dust…" 

"Yeah, yeah, sez you. Ooh, I'm scared. Okay, move it, bub," Tiger said, glaring with yellow eyes at Spike, and giving Xander a shove. "You're headed for the last round-up."

"Snappy, Dorfman, very snappy," Xander retorted, bloody—at least, there was a small cut on his forehead—but unbowed. "But it's so not cool to mix up pop culture references. With that incredibly dorky outfit, it'd be a lot wittier if you said 'bang a skull,' or something, at least…"

"Fools!" The doctor shouted, rising on her powerful tail, hands outstretched. "I said, SILENCE!"

There was a pause. The crowd of vamps glanced at each other, and shifted uneasily. Again, Spike met Angel's eyes for the tiniest of moments, and both of them took an unobtrusive step backward. Looked like the lady—or whatever—was getting tense. Better stay out of her way.

"Do you dare to defy ME, you dead, unclean things?" The doctor glared at Tiger, her dark eyes blazing behind the mask. "If you don't know your place, you must be shown!"

"Hey, there's no need for name-calling," Tiger said, aggrieved. 

"Be still!" The creature raised her arm, muttering, "_Mano __del__ fuego!_" Every vampire in the room jumped—including Spike and Angel—as a fireball sprang from nowhere, and shreiked across the room to crash at Tiger's feet.

"Whoa!" the stocky vamp exclaimed, stumbling backward. "Let's not lose our tempers!" 

"You will obey me until I release you," the Doctor commanded. "Is that clear? Fools! You dare to oppose ME? For years, I have waited, gathering strength, perfecting my plan. When fate set the tools within my grasp, I was ready to seize them. You cannot conceive of my powers. Do you know who I am?"

"Well, uh, sure, ma'am," Tiger began, in what he probably thought was an ingratiating voice. Spike felt that was a bad move. Archvillains usually preferred not to be interrupted mid-rant. Archvillainesses even more so, probably. The Doctor rounded on her minion.

Unexpectedly, Buffy chimed in at this point, taking the heat off Tiger. 

"He may not know who you are, but I do," she declared, stepping forward, hands on her hips and a martial gleam in her eye. "At least the, uh, middle part of you."

That's right, Slayer, annoy the increasingly looney Big Bad. Spike thought he saw the Doctor's eyes narrow.

"We've known each other for years, haven't we?" Buffy continued affably. "Though frankly I preferred your old look. Cashmere twinsets and Lilly Pulitzer slacks suited you so much better than that cheap bronzy stuff. Of course, it's not even real bronze, is it?"

"Be silent," the chimera hissed, the tip of her tail twitching furiously.

"Oh, don't you want your devoted followers to know?" Buffy asked sweetly.

"Know what?" Spike asked involuntarily.

"She's just a witch. An ordinary, garden-variety, suburban housewife-type witch—Samantha-gone-bad—with a few spare parts stitched on. She's so high and mighty now she doesn't want it spread around that she spent three years locked up in a trophy case in Sunnydale High—because she was so dumb, she cast a spell on herself **BY ACCIDENT**. Remember that, Katherine?" Spike heard a gasp from Xander. "We all used to pass by every morning on the way to homeroom, and she was stuck there, waving her little metal pom-poms. Pretty scary, huh? _NOT_!" 

Well. That was unexpected. The Doctor knew the slayer all along, eh? But who exactly was she? And where did pom-poms come in? Spike was about to ask when at last he heard the faint sound he'd been waiting for. 

Swiftly, while all eyes were fixed on the confrontation between the slayer and her enemy, he swung the sword and decapitated Tiger, who wore an expression of shock as he disintegrated. Arrogant bugger. Before the others could react, Angel seized Riley, heaved him overhead, and hurled his limp but weighty body at the two vampires holding Xander, bowling them over. Well done! The old man always had a good eye. 

"See you later, love." Spike thrust the sword into Buffy's hands. "After the brannigan."

"Have fun!" In one smooth motion, Buffy raised the weapon, spun to her left and took out two vamps with one blow, and dropped a kiss on his cheek. "Be careful!" Then she was off, dealing dusty death with sparkling precision and perfect form.

Spike grinned, and swung into action, pulling two stakes from his pockets. Through over-confidence or sheer stupidity, the doctor's brain-damaged minions had never searched him or Angel. Growling vamps evaporated into dust on either side of him. He fought his way through the milling pack toward Clem and Gunn, knocking the confiscated weapons from their captors' hands and freeing them with a cross-armed double stake maneuver.

"Hey, Spike!" Clem beamed, regaining possession of his enormous axe, and swinging it with enthusiasm, decapitating a lummox of a vamp coming up from behind. "We came to rescue you!"

"Thanks ever so," Spike said, staking another. "Rescue yourselves, why don't you?"

"We're on it, bro." Gunn knelt beside Riley's immobile form. "What about this dude? We can't just leave him to the vamps. Unfortunately."

Spike felt his face start to change, and struggled to control his fury. "Tie him up. We'll deal with him later."

"You know what the Angel Investigations motto is? 'Be prepared.'" Gunn pulled handcuffs from his back pocket, turned a groaning Riley over, and slapped them on his wrists. "Just like the Boy Scouts of America."

There was a crash of breaking glass, and a momentary lull in the action as everyone looked up toward the former gymnasium's oversize windows. 

Eddie's broad green visage appeared. At last! He dropped to the floor, tucked and rolling to his feet like a commando, followed by Abner, Abel, and Mezzi, all of them heavily armed. To Spike's surprise, Vinnie Teeth and Wally the merman followed. At almost the same time, the double doors flew open, and five or six angry looking Fyarls, emitting rumbling growls, shouldered through the entrance. 

"Damn and blast!" Spike felt for his squirt gun. "The potion must have worn off!"

"But no," Xander said, firing bolt after bolt from his crossbow, "Didn't we tell you? Mrs. C cooked up another little surprise…" 

Spike staked another vamp. "Guess you forgot to mention it."

"The Fyarls are cured, courtesy of Potion Number 2. And they look pretty pissed off, I might add." He paused, feeling in his pocket for more bolts. "Hey, what's SHE doing?"

"Trying to control them, I reckon." Spike watched as the Doctor rose higher on her demon-serpent tail, clutching her head with both hands. But her mind-rays or whatever they were had no effect on the Fyarls, who waded into the crowd of vampires and began ripping off heads with enthusiasm. For a moment, the chimera swung back and forth, confounded by rage and confusion. Then she gave a cry and darted toward the back of the platform, where an elaborate control panel stood. The polished mask of her face was expressionless, but her posture was desperate.

"She's done for," Spike said. "All we've got to do is…"

"Look out! Don't let her!" Riley struggled to his knees, his blue eyes wide with terror. "You don't know what she'll do! She's gone insane!"

Spike seized him by the throat with a snarl. "Let her what, you bastard? Is this another one of your tricks?"

"No, no!" Riley cowered. "The lever! Don't let her touch the lever! She'll blow us all to kingdom come!"

TBC

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

I am her slave; I wake and watch and run

From dark till dawn beside her. All the while

She hums there softly, purring with delight

Because men bring the riches of the earth

To feed her hungry fires. I do her will

And dare not disobey, for her right hand

Is power, her left is terror, and her anger

Is havoc. Look-if I but lay a wire

Across the terminals of yonder switch

She'll burst her windings, rip her casings off,

And shriek till envious Hell shoots up its flames,

Shattering her very throne. And all her people,

The laboring, trampling, dreaming crowds out there-

Fools and the wise who look to her for light-

Will walk in darkness through the liquid night

Submerged."

Harriet Monroe


	22. Drifting Dust

Title: SAMARITAN  
  
Author: Ivytree  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc. Except Mrs. C, Eddie, Zevra, Grak, Garg, and the rest of the demon gang...  
Feedback: Please!  
Summary: Sequel to Grandpa; A soul takes Spike places no one expected him to go.  
Setting: Hey, it's the Samaritan-verse!  
A/N: Almost to the end; only one more chapter to go!  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
SAMARITAN Part 22 Drifting Dust  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
Buffy's sword slashed right, left, and right again. Well, here I am, battling the undead in a high school gym, she thought. You've come a long way, baby!   
  
Dust shimmered in her wake and fine grit grated beneath the soles of her boots as she danced and pivoted through the mortal remains of her prey. As from a distance, the growling of the Fyarls falling upon the Doctor's crowd of vampire mercenaries met her ears. She was in the zone.  
  
The cavernous chamber had dissolved into violent chaos on the arrival of the Fyarls through the door and Spike's demon cadre through a window. At first the leaderless vamp horde milled about uncertainly, but the Fyarls—holding some sort of grudge, apparently—weren't about to let the undead get away. Combat exploded. Glimpses of the battle caught Buffy's eye as she dodged and whirled. Shouts, grunts, and roars echoed off the tiled walls. Across the room, Xander, Gunn, and Clem plied their weapons with grim glee. A few of the Doctor's remaining enthralled minions joined the melee—Zandar demons, with their array of dagger-sharp horns, Mottarians, with armor-like scales and six-taloned paws, and the ever-popular Polgaras—but, in the end, they were no use to their mistress. Shots of Mrs. C's anti-thrall potion sent them thudding to the floor.   
  
Buffy had to admit that Spike's allies—dammit, even that overdeveloped hottie, Zevra—turned the tide of the fight. Vinnie the Loan Shark threw street-honed right hooks, uppercuts, and rabbit punches, driving his adversaries toward a blue guy who proved pretty swift with a stake—that was probably the elusive Wally. Desperately, less valorous vamps began to peel away from the mob and scuttle off, depleting the bad guys' numbers even further, from fifty to no more than two dozen.   
  
Buffy's smile was flinty. So, this super-villainess thought she could menace HER town? HER friends? Threaten Spike? Not in this life. Katherine Madison, you're going DOWN!  
  
Ducking to the right, Buffy glimpsed Spike roughly shaking Riley's shoulder, as Riley screamed something she couldn't make out. Spike shot to his feet, swift as lightning, and made a great bound across the room, his coat flapping behind him. A second leap took him straight to the platform where Katherine Madison perched above the fray. But he didn't have a weapon…  
  
"Spike!" Buffy shouted. He whirled just in time to see her sword flashing toward him, spinning end over end. Eyes blazing with yellow bale-fire, he caught the pommel in his left hand and swung it high overhead, bringing the blade down in a deadly arc where the Doctor's demon tail curved upward to support her torso. Black fluid spurted from between the reptilian scales; her brazen face didn't change expression, but hideous, inhuman yowls issued from behind the mask. Lightning shot from her fingers, knocking Spike aside. Still gripping the sword, he scrambled to his feet, and charged again.   
  
Once more the Doctor lurched toward the back of the platform. Spike followed, his blade striking sparks from the back of her metal neck she ducked and twisted to escape his blows. Obviously, he was trying to keep her from doing something—and whatever it was she wanted to do couldn't be good.   
  
They should probably stop her.  
  
"Guys!" Buffy cried. "Stop her! This way!"  
  
She saw four of the remaining vampires explode into dust as Zevra fought her way toward the front of the platform, her spear a windmill of destruction.  
  
"Slayer!" the Amazon called. "A blade!" Drawing a short sword from her belt with a sharp-toothed grin, she tossed it over the heads of two more snarling vamps.   
  
Buffy caught it with an answering grin and sprang onto the raised area, arm raised to strike. The question was, where? The chimera was made up of three of her old enemies, Katherine Madison, the Mayor, and Maggie Walsh, smooshed together by some fiendish magical means. So shouldn't there be, well, weak points? Like, seams? (And, ewww.)  
  
Electric bolts and fireballs blasted wildly from the monstrous creature's hands, bouncing from the walls and ceiling. As Abner, Abel, Vinnie, Wally, and Zevra disposed of the remaining vamps and (evil) demons, Gunn, Clem, and Eddie began to slash at the powerful, dangerous tail. Xander's crossbow bolts whizzed past Buffy's ears. Spike and Angel, bobbing and weaving under a rain of flaming missiles, got in some mighty hits to the body.   
  
"Fools! Lackeys!" the Doctor shrieked, rising to a great height, knocking Clem and Eddie off their feet, "You will never defeat me, Slayer! Thrice you tried, and thrice you failed; your puny efforts only made us stronger. Stronger! Soon you will all be subject to my will! My strength will know no limits!"  
  
"That's what you think, lady," Buffy snapped. She was sick and tired of Mrs. Super-Bitch. "You've caused enough trouble, and I've had it, okay? I guess there's only ONE way to get you out of my town—and this is it!"  
  
With that, she launched herself at the chimera's back, clamped her legs around her ribs, and aimed blow after blow at the bronze neck. Soon the creature's stained lab coat was soaked with blood (if it was blood). Buffy clung for dear life as the great scaled body writhed and bucked, sending the attackers tumbling. She saw Angel slam against the wall and Spike go sailing through the air across the chamber. Spike was up in a moment, and scrambling after the Doctor as she lunged again in the direction of an instrument panel at the back of the platform.  
  
"No!" Buffy heard Riley scream.   
  
With one blow, Spike hacked off the monster's right arm. At almost the same moment, Buffy somersaulted over her head, seized her around the waist, and aimed a powerful stab at the left side of her chest, right where the heart should be—if this blending of demon, witch, and mad scientist still had a heart. The gleaming sword slid through clothing, flesh, and muscle with shocking ease.  
  
Apparently the Doctor did still have a heart, after all. Deep red blood sprayed from her chest and back, and her powerful body shuddered and stiffened. There was a strange lull. All battle sounds faded as Buffy looked her enemy straight in the eyes and saw her die.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -With admiration, Angel saw Buffy propel herself across the room away from the chimera in a perfectly timed backflip, even managing to avoid most of the spurting blood. For a moment, the grotesque creature swayed drunkenly, with the sword hilt protruding from her chest. Then she fell sideways with a resonant thud, and lay still.   
  
The warriors looked at each other. One of the Fyarls began a spine-chilling chant—a death-chant, though whether of victory over his tormentor or mourning for his mistress, Angel couldn't tell—and the others shushed him with low growls. Grunting a little, favoring his right knee, Angel picked himself up and brushed debris from his coat. Demon carcasses littered the floor. His stomach tightened. A miasma of death filled the room, and scents of sweet human blood and acrid demon blood mingled, seductive and repulsive, all underlaid with the chill, graveside smell of vampire dust. Another victory won.   
  
Spike stood at the edge of the Doctor's podium before the corpse, still gripping his sword's hilt as the point dragged on the floor. Blood trickled down his face from an already closing scalp wound. He looked dazed.   
  
"Well," he said, wiping a hand across his forehead, "That's it, then."  
  
Angel hung back as the other demons gathered around their leader.  
  
"All right! We did it, Spike! Ding-dong, the witch is dead!" Clem's ruby eyes beamed. "We couldn't have won without you! Three cheers for Spike!"  
  
Ragged cheers, with roars from the Fyarls and a surprisingly piercing hoot from the little Pikak, rose from the demons. Vinnie Teeth whistled and stamped. Spike blinked, assuming a certain deer-in-the-headlights expression. Angel folded his arms. This should be good.  
  
"Speech!" Wally called, and the others agreed loudly.  
  
"Thanks a lot, mates," Spike said, after a moment's hesitation. "We did it, didn't we? From now on, we're free to run our own patch and make our own rules—if any. From now on, we'll have a fair and honest Demontown. No more underhanded deals. No more minions. No more thrall. Just a free association of equal, um, demonkind."   
  
Not bad, Angel decided. Spike always did have a way with words. He was interrupted by more applause, and held up his hand.  
  
"But we couldn't have done it alone. First, let's give it up for Peaches and… that is, our demon brothers from out of town."   
  
Hey! No fair dragging him into this! A chant of "Angel! Angel! Angel!" began, with the Fyarls grunting in rhythm. Angel, after the obligatory glower at the hated nickname, smiled modestly and sketched a salute. Wally and Vinnie bowed, grinning.  
  
"And let's not forget our friends, the humans, of L.A. and Sunnydale. One, in particular." Before the demons could react, he continued, "Slayer?"  
  
After a slight pause, the demons burst into applause again, and this time Angel joined in. Buffy, her eyes like stars, mounted the platform and took Spike's outstretched hand. Below them, Xander extended his hand to Abel, who, after a moment's hesitation, took it in his own enormous, furry one and shook it vigorously. Xander smiled, hardly wincing at all. This inaugurated an orgy of friendly human-demon handshaking and backslapping, not to mention several enthusiastic hugs for Zevra.  
  
"Thanks, you guys," Buffy said. Despite her torn, bloodied clothing, she glowed like a sunbeam to Angel's eyes. "So, um, from now on we can all work together to keep Sunnydale safe, right? In fact," she continued, with rising enthusiasm, "I had this idea for a kind of joint Neighborhood Watch…"- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -Out of the corner of his eye, Spike saw Angel draw away from the victorious gathering and drift toward the back of the room. Well, the old man never did like a crowd. At first he was puzzled at the direction Angel took, until he remembered who lay there, handcuffed and unable to escape—Riley. Uh-oh. Pausing briefly to admire the sight of Buffy enthusiastically comparing notes on battle technique (judging from their rather lethal-looking gestures) with Zevra, he slipped after his progenitor.   
  
He came upon Angel staring at Riley with unsettling intensity, one hand grasping his already bruised neck. Riley was pinned to the floor, his bloodshot blue eyes wide with panic.  
  
"Oh, right. We've still got anatomically incorrect G.I. Joe to dispose of, I reckon," Spike remarked in a casual tone. "Almost forgot about him."  
  
"I didn't," Angel said, in an expressionless voice. Spike looked at him sharply. "He knows too much. About Buffy. About everything."  
  
"Does he? Think you're giving him a bit too much credit. I mean, he's not exactly Charlie-bleeding-Carruthers, Master Spy, is he?"  
  
"He already tried to sell her out once. There's one way to shut him up permanently. If he never leaves here, he can never tell."  
  
"Tell what?" Riley said, still groggy. "I don't know anything. What do you mean? What does he mean? I won't tell anyone, I swear."  
  
"It would be easy," Angel reflected; his dark eyes didn't flicker. Spike felt a bead of ice roll up his spine. "Don't you think? That girl's better off without him, anyhow. You know how he'll treat her in the end. He's nothing." He squeezed Riley's throat a little, leaving him red-faced and gasping. "He's just a puling piece of…"  
  
Bugger. Spike crouched beside his grandsire, and gripped his shoulder hard with one hand.  
  
"You don't want to do that, mate," he said steadily.   
  
Angel didn't answer, and didn't release his hold.  
  
"She wouldn't want that on her conscience," Spike went on, keeping his voice dispassionate. "She wouldn't want that on YOUR conscience. It would prey on her mind, wouldn't it? Make her unhappy."  
  
After a few seconds, Angel sagged, and loosed his hold on Riley, who collapsed, wheezing. Better get him out of here, pronto. Without resistance, Angel dropped a key into Spike's outstretched palm.  
  
"Hop it, moron," Spike snapped, unlocking the A.I. issue steel bracelets, "and don't let us see or hear of you again, savvy? Or you'll regret the day you were born." He emphasized that last threat by vamping out, showing some fang, and glaring with deadly golden eyes. "Point taken?"  
  
Riley bolted.   
  
Side by side, the two souled vampires watched the former soldier scuttle away, unnoticed and unmissed by the happy crowd of humans and (good) demons.  
  
"Hero," Spike summed up. "Clean-cut, all-American, football-tossing, psalm-singing bloody hero."  
  
"I think the word I'm looking for is putz," Angel mused.  
  
"Come on, Grampy." Spike clapped him on the shoulder. "Lively up yourself, all right? Eddie's invited the lot of us to the Red Sunset. Drinks on the house." He cleared his throat. "Inhaling all that dust, I could use a pint. Or five. Or ten."  
  
"Sounds good," Angel said, adding, with a flash of irritation, "Didn't I say never to call me that?"  
  
TBC  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
HELEN'S lips are drifting dust;  
Ilion is consumed with rust;  
All the galleons of Greece  
Drink the ocean's dreamless peace;  
Lost was Solomon's purple show  
Restless centuries ago;  
Stately empires wax and wane—  
Babylon, Barbary, and Spain;—  
Only one thing, undefaced,  
Lasts, though all the worlds lie waste  
And the heavens are overturned.  
Dear, how long ago we learned!  
  
There's a sight that blinds the sun  
Sound that lives when sounds are done,  
Music that rebukes the birds,  
Language lovelier than words,  
Hue and scent that shame the rose,  
Wine no earthly vineyard knows,  
Silence stiller than the shore  
Swept by Charon's stealthy oar,  
Ocean more divinely free  
Than Pacific's boundless sea,—  
Ye who love have learned it true.  
Dear, how long ago we knew!  
  
Frederic Lawrence Knowles 


	23. Just a Life

Title: SAMARITAN  
  
Author: Ivytree  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc. Except Mrs. C, Eddie, Zevra, Grak, Garg, and the rest of the demon gang...  
Feedback: Please!  
Summary: Sequel to Grandpa; A soul takes Spike places no one expected him to go.  
Setting: Hey, it's the Samaritan-verse!  
  
SAMARITAN Pt. 23 Just a Life  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
Eddie flung open the doors of the Red Sunset Club, declared the first round on the house, and spent the rest of the evening pouring drink after drink with a free hand. Soon the joint was jumping with happy (good) demons toasting their human guests.  
  
Bearing two overflowing pints of foam-topped, sable-brown Guinness, Spike made his way toward an archway separating the two main rooms.  
  
"Here you are, granddad." He handed one glass to Angel, who stood in the shadows with his shoulders propped against the wall. "Rancid black muck straight from the Ould Country. That'll be four-fifty."  
  
Angel looked outraged; at least, his brow furrowed more than usual. "For two pints? In a demon bar?" He felt in his pockets. "I don't know what this country's coming to. The first pint I ever had cost fivepence. In fact, it might have been a penny. Good home-brewed ale, too."  
  
"S'pose you should expect some inflation over two hundred years," Spike said, sipping foam from the top of his drink. "I also s'pose you're spinning tales of the olden days to distract my attention away from the dosh you owe me. Pay up."  
  
"I was going to—I've got a soul too, you know," Angel retorted defensively. He retrieved a bundle of neatly folded bills and carefully counted out four. "I'm out of coins; I'll have to owe you the rest."  
  
With skillful fingers, Spike filched one more dollar bill from the roll heading back toward Angel's pocket.  
  
"I'll owe YOU," he corrected. "Soul or no soul, Peaches, you're still the most tightfisted bastard I've met in 150 years, bar none. Give it a rest, why don't you?"  
  
"I can't help it if my Da taught me thrift," Angel said moodily. This was their fifth pint, and the old man began to wax philosophical. "Nobody knows the value of a dollar nowadays—or anything else, for that matter. Seriously, don't you wonder about this century sometimes?"  
  
"I'm sort of getting into it, as a matter of fact," Spike replied. "I mean, satellite TV, right? Can't say fairer than that. Digital cameras. Cell phones. Even thinking of getting a laptop."  
  
"I hate that electronic crap." Angel's face grew darker still. "How about this for an example—a hundred years ago, it would have taken that cretin Finn six months to contact his brownshirt buds in South America. Now he's just hopped a supersonic jet, and..."  
  
Spike sobered abruptly. The Spineless Tin Soldier was the last thing he wanted to think about tonight. "We threw a good scare into him, though," he said hopefully. "And, anyway, once those bloody eggs are destroyed with the rest of the Doctor bird's kit, there'll be no 'suoshashai.' No necromancy. No evil Initiative science."  
  
"They can find more."  
  
"Supposed to be rare and that, aren't they? Endangered."  
  
"There are other things. Other ways to—"  
  
"You saying we should've offed him?" Spike interrupted sharply. "Killed him for something he MIGHT do?"  
  
Angel's eyes looked almost black as he gazed somberly into his Guinness. "I'm just saying—he'll be back. You can count on it."  
  
Without replying, Spike turned to survey the happy crowd.  
  
The Sunset really was nicer than Willy's; the bar itself was faux black marble, and the wall behind it bore a mural of a striking crimson sun sinking behind gently rolling hills. Strands of amber, vermilion, and hot pink colored lights crisscrossed the ceiling. No mirrors, of course, but there was a well-stocked jukebox, and nicely upholstered black leather booths and assorted drinks with little umbrellas were available for the ladies. Also, your feet didn't stick to the floor here.  
  
In a booth across from the bar, Buffy sat squeezed in beside Zevra, Anya, Xander, Gunn, and Fred. A scattering of empty glasses decorated the table, and someone had apparently ordered a fresh round of Singapore Slings, as five tall, rosy glasses, set with fruit-studded swizzle sticks, stood before them. Spike saw with certain frisson of apprehension that the two Woman Warriors were developing quite a rapport; Buffy's golden head was bent close to Zevra's platinum one, and they seemed deep in conversation. He was all for an honest and open relationship in theory, but there were some features of his friendship with the Amazons that he'd just as soon not share with the slayer. As he watched, she threw back her head and laughed.  
  
"You going to tell her? About the necromancy?" Angel's voice, very low, made him jump.  
  
Spike snorted. "'Course I am. I prefer to keep all my bits intact. Slayer doesn't exactly take to being kept in the dark for her own good, does she?"  
  
Angel rubbed his jaw with a reminiscent smile. "Now that you mention it, no."  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
After a celebration lasting into the early hours of morning, the slightly hung over members of the Greater Sunnydale Human/Demon Protective Alliance (tee shirts were already in the works) spent the following forenoon searching out the Doctor's remaining minions, freeing them with potions, and clearing every living thing out of the underground hideout and its environs.  
  
As dusk fell, Buffy descended once more, with Spike and Angel for back-up. The chimera's corpse lay where it had fallen, limp, empty, and somehow shabby, like a discarded glove. The prized Suovolte eggs were discovered in insulated containers beneath the platform, where she could keep close watch on them, they supposed.  
  
Feeling her stomach churn, Buffy took one last look around at the desolate remains of the high school gym, the storeroom doors hanging from their hinges, dusty mats rolled in the corners, and the climbing ropes (now bearing vile-looking stains) dangling from the ceiling. So much had happened here. Once, in this room, her heart had knotted with bittersweet joy at Angel's touch. Once—and only once—she had known the thanks of her peers. Once these walls had rung with chants, shrieks, and ululations—and those were just the cheerleaders. She shivered, and hugged herself, but soon the moment passed. It was truly all over.  
  
"You know, it really DOES look smaller," she remarked, and, stepping over the carcass to the wall of still-humming Initiative equipment, pulled the deadly lever with a decisive yank.  
  
Then the three of them ran like hell. A thundering boom pursued them through the warren of tunnels, and the lair of that triply formidable foe, the Doctor, shuddered into rubble at last.  
  
All Sunnydale's incurious citizens ever knew was that there had been a sudden collapse of several abandoned warehouses near the business district. A range of public works projects to revitalize the area began to be debated at the very next Municipal Council meeting.  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
Now a cool, violet-streaked twilight fell over the town, and Buffy and Spike stood on the front porch saying goodbye to their friends. Angel's marlin-finned Plymouth, Gunn's customized SUV, and Wally's electric blue PT Cruiser were parked at the curb.  
  
"So we expect you lot to give us a ring next time you need rescuing, right? Guess we owe you one, now," Spike said.  
  
"Next time an invincible Big Bad hits L.A., you'll be the first ones we call," Angel promised. "Gotta maintain the ol' cosmic balance."  
  
Under Spike's watchful but restrained eye, he bent to bestow a chaste kiss on Buffy's cheek, and started down the steps.  
  
"You could just come to visit," she called after him. "Like a friend, or something."  
  
Angel looked back over his shoulder.  
  
"You know what? I just might," he replied. "I'd like to see how that Neighborhood Watch thing works out."  
  
Though he smiled, Buffy saw something in his dark eyes that made her heart contract. The set of his shoulders spoke wordlessly of desolation as he moved away.  
  
She opened her mouth to call him back, but just then Gunn, Fred, Wally the Merman, and Vinnie Teeth came bustling out the front door, trailed by Xander, who seemed to have something on his mind.  
  
Gunn wrapped Buffy in a bear hug. "Whitestuff owes me this one, anyway," he said. Over her shoulder she saw Spike embrace Fred with singular gentleness, and heard him whisper, "See you soon, Brown Eyes."  
  
After that the girls hugged, too, but Spike and Gunn contented themselves with a manly handshake and a few jocular punches.  
  
"So you're saying three-card-monte's always a scam?" Xander demanded of Vinnie.  
  
"Sure it is," the Loan Shark replied. "I'll admit, it was never my specialty—you need a lot of manual dexterity, you know what I mean?" (here he held up his blunt fins) "—but guys can make a good living right on the sidewalk. And you only achieve that regular cash flow we all appreciate so much if the game is rigged, get me?"  
  
"But if a customer kept his eyes open..." Xander pursued.  
  
"Nah. Take my advice, kid, stay away from street corners. Crime actually doesn't pay, as it turns out."  
  
Wally slapped his brother-in-law's burly shoulder. "That's why Vinnie's going straight!" he announced.  
  
"Yeah, I decided to put my unique talents to work." Vinnie straightened his narrow raw silk lapels and shimmied his dorsal. "I'm joining Wally's in- ground pool business. Temp control, lights, custom grottos, whirlpools, fountains, automatic covers—the works. High-class clientele, strictly legit." His grin flashed an imposing array of blade-like teeth. "I figure sales is my forte."  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
Finally, the last vehicle turned off Revello Drive, taillight winking. Buffy still waved.  
  
"Bye!" she called. "Drive carefully!"  
  
"Yeah, so long. Bon voyage, and all that," Spike added. "Don't forget to write!" He turned to Buffy, pulling her close. "Thought I'd never get to say this, pet, but—alone at last! ...What?"  
  
"Oh, my God!" Buffy clapped a hand over her mouth, and stared at him, round eyed.  
  
"What is it, love? Something wrong?"  
  
"Omigod, I completely forgot! But we've been so busy!"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Giles and Willow—they're coming home. TOMORROW!"  
  
"Well, that's not so bad... where are you going?"  
  
Buffy flung a one-word reply over her shoulder as she hurtled through the front door. "Vacuum!"  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
"Um, so, I thought you should know all this before you get here," Buffy said nervously. "So you won't be, you know, too shocked."  
  
She heard Giles sigh, and smiled at the phone as she imagined him cleaning his glasses.  
  
"Buffy," he answered, his voice deliberately patient, "I understand that you've become—well, fond of Spike..."  
  
She laughed. "Nice way to put it, Giles! But you'll understand when you see him, I promise. He's changed."  
  
"My dear—you may believe that. And HE may even believe it. But vampires can't change, Buffy."  
  
"You'll see," she replied.  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
"Well, G-Man," Xander's voice sounded a bit thin over the telephone, but relatively chipper, all things considered. "I understand your concern. And I gotta tell ya, it's all true."  
  
"You astonish me, Xander. And, please—never call me that again."  
  
"I'm just as astonished as you are," Xander said. "Almost to the point of catatonia, in fact. It's just soooooo creepy. It all started when Spike and I had one of our little rowdydows and I shattered protocol by asking him to stop calling me names."  
  
"Oh?" All started? What all started? "What happened then?"  
  
"He stopped."  
  
"Oh." Giles pondered that. He was chagrined to find that, somewhere inside himself, he would miss Spike's zingers at Xander's expense. If this WAS all true, of course. There was always the possibility of some kind of thrall. Perhaps even mass thrall. "What about his, ah, relationship with Buffy?"  
  
"Absolutely stomach-turning," Xander said.  
  
Aha! Giles thought. I knew there was something going on that Buffy didn't want to tell me about. Romantic entanglements with vampires were fraught with peril. Visions of horrid bondage games and erotic blood rites sprang into his mind, and he dismissed them hurriedly. "What do you mean, exactly?"  
  
"They gaze at each other starry-eyed across crowded rooms." Xander's tone oozed disgust. "They stroll hand-in-hand down moonlit lanes, pausing only to dust a few vamps. Honestly, Giles, one of these days I expect to see pink and blue birdies following them around with flower garlands in their little beaks, like a Disney cartoon."  
  
"Good lord! It does sound revolting. So you don't think Spike poses a threat at this time, then?"  
  
"Not unless you get between him and the little old lady he's helping across the street," Xander replied. "I actually SAW him rescue a kid's kitten from a tree. I had to go home and lie down."  
  
"Good lord!" Giles said again. That was rather—well, creepy. What on earth was going on?  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
"Dawnie, you sure you're okay with this?" Buffy said. "They'll be here in half an hour. You don't have to stay if you don't want to."  
  
Spike took Dawn's hand and squeezed it. She smiled at him.  
  
"Everyone deserves a chance, right?" she said. "I'm not saying I won't be nervous, but I've got you guys here to protect me if things get, uh, weird."  
  
"Giles says Willow's different now—her powers are different," Buffy said. "He said they're 'fractured,' whatever that means. She couldn't do what she did before, even if she wanted to. And I'm, you know, sure she doesn't. Want to, I mean."  
  
"Sounds to me like you're the one who's nervous," Dawn teased.  
  
They were interrupted by a knock on the kitchen door. Xander and Anya stood on the back porch laden with colorful boxes.  
  
"We brought appropriate foodstuffs to welcome Willow home. Because that's what we all plan to do, right?" Anya's smile was determined.  
  
"Welcome, eat, relax, check," Xander said. "Forgive and forget. Mellow out. Check."  
  
"Since we've all tried to kill each other at one time or another, it makes sense for us all to forgive each other," Anya pointed out. "It would be socially awkward, otherwise."  
  
"Honey, you are the Hellmouth's own Emily Post," Xander declared.  
  
Buffy laughed. "Come on in, you guys! They'll be here soon."  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
"Technically speaking, I never tried to kill Buffy," Anya said. "But I'm very sorry for any discomfort I might have caused."  
  
"That's okay, Anya," Buffy said, "it's over, and we're all friends now."  
  
"I hope Willow sees it that way." Anya's voice was still rather tense.  
  
"She's probably just as sorry as we are, pet," Spike put in. "But let's not crowd her, all right? Once you start apologizing it's hard to know where to stop. Gets a bit boring for the onlookers."  
  
Without replying, Anya clutched Xander's hand. There was a lull only partly filled by the crunching of chocolate-dipped butter cookies (with sprinkles) fresh from the bakery, and, after a few moments, they heard a vehicle pull into the drive. Then two car doors opened and shut. Then there was another pause, and the doorbell rang.  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
"Ready?"  
  
"As I'll ever be," Willow said. With a pang of sympathy, Giles saw that she was trembling ever so slightly.  
  
He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. In fact, he too felt a bit unnerved. The guardians of the Hellmouth seemed to have scraped through the latest crisis without any major disasters, but he could only imagine what dreadful situation might have developed between Buffy and Spike. How on earth would he get her to see reason?  
  
But he'd HAD to leave when he did. Willow risked serious damage from magical overload, and only the Devon coven could help her. After all, it was his responsibility—if it hadn't been for his carelessness, she would never have begun even the simplest spell. Thank goodness, his instinct had been correct; as soon as they arrived at the rambling, apotropaic country manor, shaded by ancient trees, the good denizens had welcomed her with honest warmth. Who could comprehend the temptations of abundant magical power better than these, twelve of the most powerful white magic adepts in the world? Their strength and understanding had pulled her through this crisis, he was sure of it. But he could hardly just drop the girl with a group of strangers and scurry back to his slayer, much as he might have wished to.  
  
And, after all, he thought rather waspishly, one would have imagined that Buffy's first disastrous experience of vampire amours might have taught her some caution, at the very least. Apparently one would have been wrong, however.  
  
He got out of the rental car, and opened the trunk to get his bags. Later this evening he would drop Willow off at her parents' house, and the Summers home would be his headquarters for a few days. Golden, welcoming light streamed from the unshaded windows, illuminating the dark street. Giles frowned. That seemed a bit careless in this town. Willow joined him on the path to the front porch, but hung back as he rang the bell.  
  
When the door opened to reveal Buffy's smiling face, Giles forgot his reservations for a moment, and reached out his unencumbered arm to gather her close. How he had missed her!  
  
"Oh, I'm so glad to see you!" she exclaimed, squeezing his ribcage with rather perilous enthusiasm. "You won't BELIEVE the changes around Sunnydale!"  
  
Suddenly he felt his right hand freed, and Spike's voice said, "Welcome back, Rupes. Let me get that for you."  
  
Giles drew back in surprise as Spike took his bag and stowed it against the wall by the stairs. Well. That was certainly odd. But there would be time to go into it later. Right now...  
  
"Welcome home, Will," Buffy said warmly. "We're so glad you're back."  
  
"Come, my dear," Giles said, taking Willow's hand and gently drawing her across the threshold. She looked so timid, poor girl, with that little half- smile on her lips.  
  
Willow's looked from one face to another. "Hey, guys."  
  
"Come on in, Will!" Xander waved a paper cup. "We've got the tropical fruit punch of hospitality, here!"  
  
"And cannoli!" Anya added brightly.  
  
"Well, who could refuse..." Willow began. Then she staggered, and gasped. "Oh, my God," she said, her voice shaking. "Oh, my God!"  
  
TBC  
  
I years had been from home,  
And now, before the door,  
I dared not open, lest a face  
I never saw before  
  
Stare vacant into mine  
And ask my business there.  
My business,—just a life I left,  
Was such still dwelling there?  
  
I fumbled at my nerve,  
I scanned the windows near;  
The silence like an ocean rolled,  
And broke against my ear.  
  
I laughed a wooden laugh  
That I could fear a door,  
Who danger and the dead had faced,  
But never quaked before.  
  
Emily Dickenson 


	24. Gorgeous Things

Title: SAMARITAN Author: Ivytree Rating: PG-13 Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc. Except Mrs. C, Eddie, Zevra, Grak, Garg, and the rest of the demon gang.  
Feedback: Please!  
Summary: Sequel to Grandpa; A soul takes Spike places no one expected him to go.  
Setting: Hey, it's the Samaritan-verse!  
A/N: Okay, just one more chapter after this… really, I mean it this time! Honest!  
  
SAMARITAN Pt. 24 Gorgeous Things  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
"Oh, my God!" Willow sagged against Giles, hands over her eyes.  
  
"Willow, what is it?" he demanded. When she didn't reply, he half carried her into the living room and lowered her to the sofa. "What is it, my dear? Did you… see something? Are you in pain?"  
  
She looked up, her features lit by an ecstatic expression.  
  
"It's glorious, Giles!" she exclaimed. "So bright! Doesn't anybody see—is it just me?"  
  
Giles met Buffy's worried eyes over Willow's head.  
  
"There have been a number of changes in Willow's magical abilities," he explained. "Sometimes she can see what others cannot. I suspect this is manifesting itself now because of her long journey—exhaustion tends to lessen the bonds of reality, in certain adepts…"  
  
"So she's got, like, leg cramp, stale air, and salted-nut visions?" Xander said. "A jet-lag high?"  
  
"They're not visions, but a kind of sight that most of us don't…" Giles began.  
  
"Oh, Spike!" Willow cried. "Why didn't anybody tell me? I see it shining! It's so beautiful!"  
  
"Uh…" Spike fell back a pace, looking guilt-stricken.  
  
"What is?" Giles demanded.  
  
"His soul! It's all silver, shining silver!"  
  
There was a moment of stunned silence. Willow held out both hands to Spike. Slowly he approached and took them in his.  
  
"Sorry, Red," he said, perching beside her on the sofa. "Nobody's ever had quite that reaction—as a rule, they just sputter and gasp like landed fish. I would've warned you if I'd known…"  
  
"I think it's something Tara gave me." She smiled at him shyly. "She could see things sometimes—spirits, and auras, and, well, souls—and now I can, too. Not all the time, because, hey, that would get wiggy, not to mention distracting. But sometimes. First it was scary, but now it's sorta cool!"  
  
Xander raised his hand. "Um, excuse me! But—WHAT are you people talking about?"  
  
"Just what I was going to ask," Giles said.  
  
"Apparently, Willow can see Spike's soul," Anya offered.  
  
"Spike's WHAT?" Xander's voice squeaked up about an octave.  
  
"I beg your pardon?" Giles stared hard at Anya. "I don't think I can have heard you correctly."  
  
"Spike's soul. She can see it."  
  
"Anya—you knew about this?"  
  
"Well, he asked me not to tell. I could see it, too, before I renounced being a demon for all eternity and embraced true love."  
  
"Buffy! Surely…" Words failed him.  
  
"Giles…" Buffy returned a frank look. "If I told you, would you have believed me?"  
  
"I imagine not," he admitted. "As a matter of fact, I'm having great difficulty believing it at all. How on earth… The whole idea is preposterous. And you know his how, exactly? Can you sense it in some way? Or did he tell you?" He tried to keep the suspicion out of his tone.  
  
"Actually, neither." Buffy chuckled. Giles was quite sure she enjoyed his perplexity. "I was the last to know, as a matter of fact; Spike was too shy to tell me. So Angel did." She grinned. "I know exactly how you feel; I nearly passed out from the shock."  
  
"ANGEL?" Giles ran a hand over his face. Even after all these years, hearing that name still made his gut tighten. "Angel is here? How? Why? When?"  
  
"Good questions. Sooner or later, everyone asks them," Spike observed. He had settled back in the corner of the sofa beside Willow, legs stretched out, ankles crossed. Giles noticed with some resentment that he seemed very much at home lounging about Buffy's living room.  
  
"Make a long, tedious yarn short 'n' sweet, all right? Short, anyway," Spike went on. "Decided I wasn't good enough to be 'round the girl. Found this demon geezer giving out rewards for going through trials and that. So I went out there to see 'im, I won, and I got my reward. End of story. Oh, and Angel WAS here, helping us out a bit, but he buggered off back to LA; got his own problems to deal with. Sends his regards."  
  
"Well, ruffle my hair and call me Frankie!" Xander exclaimed. "It's all beginning to make sense! I knew ONE of us had lost his grip on what we laughingly call reality in this land of Sunny Dee. At least it's not me."  
  
"Are you telling me you deliberately regained your soul?" Giles demanded hotly. This was too much. "You're a bloody vampire!"  
  
"Well, since you put it that way, yeah." Spike said. "Sorry to shatter your worldview, gramps, but that's how it went down."  
  
Giles rounded on Buffy. "Surely you don't believe this farrago!"  
  
"Giles." Willow's voice was hushed. He paused, looking at her. "He wouldn't lie."  
  
"He wouldn't…?" Giles strove for control.  
  
Willow shook her head. "It's unsullied, Giles." Her green eyes were enormous. "More than anyone else in this room. Unstained. That's why it's so beautiful."  
  
Deflated, Giles sat down suddenly. "Good lord."  
  
Seeing Willow's awed face, Spike gave a crack of laughter. "Be fair, pet. After all, there's no wonder it's in fairly good nick—hardly been used, has it? Give us a year or two…"  
  
- - - -  
  
Giles sagged in his armchair. Somehow the evening had gotten away from him after Willow's big revelation about Spike, and exhaustion weighted his shoulders. He supposed jet lag was catching up with him—at any rate, he hoped it was jet lag, rather than advancing years.  
  
"AMY?!?" he heard Willow squeal. Across the room, the children—for that was how he thought of them, even now—were gathered around her, chattering excitedly about the customary world-shaking events that had roiled Sunnydale in her absence.  
  
Sitting on the arm of the sofa, Dawn bounced excitedly, as Xander held his hands up behind his head, fingers spread and waggling. What on earth could that mean? Antlers? Mouse ears? Antennae? By now Giles was finding it all rather difficult to follow. The bright, youthful voices ran together in his head.  
  
Of course, that might have something to do with the brimming glass Spike had pressed into his hand.  
  
"Sorry, Rupes, forgot to lay on your preferred corpse reviver, what with all the rumpus," the vampire said, "but Jack will do in a pinch, right? It's either that, or peach brandy, or that foul Irish cream swill the girls like."  
  
"Any port in a storm," Giles rejoined, clutching the tumbler (which was, to his utter lack of surprise, a jelly-glass imprinted with a pink cartoon dog) with unbecoming avidity. Suppressing a shudder at the very thought of Irish cream, he took a hefty pull. As he'd always expected, the rich, burnt-vanilla infused bourbon tasted quite vile; but still, it did the trick. A sensation of warmth began to trickle through his weary limbs, and he let out a sigh.  
  
Without being obtrusive about it, he examined Spike. It had not escaped his notice that when the vampire apologized, he had actually sounded sorry. This was, he bluntly admitted to himself, spine-tingling. He couldn't detect many outward changes; Spike's hair was longer, and a bit darker at the roots, and fine lines gathered around his eyes and the corners of his mouth. Frankly, if he were an ordinary man, Giles would have said he looked tired. But that was all; no "silvery glow" was detectable to the normal human eye, as it were. On the other hand, he had learned to trust Willow's occult sight, which had turned out to be quite powerful. Thoughtfully, he stared at the bottom of his glass. "Why peach brandy?"  
  
"They put it on ice cream," Spike explained equably, sipping from his own aqua dog-decorated jelly glass (Buffy and Dawn had probably collected the whole set, Giles decided irrelevantly). "Don't look so glum, Rupert; not the end of the world, y'know."  
  
"As a matter of fact," Giles replied, "it is."  
  
Couldn't anyone see that it was indeed, at least in a sense, the end of HIS world?  
  
The very concept of a soulless vampire seeking his soul's return eviscerated the venerable belief structure supporting the Council of Watchers, thoroughly and permanently. In opposing the Council, Giles had willingly assumed the role of the iconoclast, the renegade—but this went beyond procedural disagreements. This shook the bedrock.  
  
A wave of vertigo swept over him; he felt as if he were balanced on a precipice, knowing as in a nightmare that he was bound to go over at any moment. Everything was changed. He felt a wrenching combination of fear that all he had ever known was, in a word, false, and the gut-level thrill with which he always began a new research project.  
  
For mustn't this prove to be the research project of the millennium? How many hundreds—thousands—of years of history must now be rethought, reinterpreted, rewritten? How many bloodstained victories were now shown unnecessary? How many lives had been wasted? What might it mean in the eternal fight against evil?  
  
"A bit daunting, is it?" Spike quirked an eyebrow and then, startlingly, echoed Giles' own thoughts. "You're a gentleman and a scholar, aren't you? Seeker after truth? Here's your opportunity to spend happy hours scouring obscure, crumbling texts in the dear old Bodleian. Should think you'd jump at it."  
  
"Texts in the Bodleian receive the most advanced conservation techniques available nowadays, thank you very much; they haven't crumbled for years. But that's not really the point, is it?" Giles swallowed more bourbon. He was getting quite used to the flavor now, and it was… restorative. "If you can do this astonishing thing, how many others might have been capable of it, over the years?"  
  
"For what it's worth, nobody's ever heard of any others tryin' it. Least that's what they tell me."  
  
"Yes, but how can we be sure?"  
  
Despite the ancient tenets of the Council, any Watcher with field experience knew quite well that all demons weren't evil. Some were harmless, and some were positively helpful. But Giles had never considered vampires as even potentially harmless. Had they—the Good Guys, as Xander would undoubtedly put it—been denying sentient creatures the opportunity for redemption all this time? What, exactly, had they done?  
  
He took off his glasses, and rubbed his eyelids. Even his fingers felt leaden. The party would break up soon, he imagined, and they could all get a good night's sleep. Perhaps things would look more manageable in the morning. He really didn't feel able to cope right now. The room seemed to wobble and recede, and he let his head fall against the back of the chair.  
  
"Giles!" Buffy's cheerful voice rang in his ear, and he jumped. "Wake up!"  
  
"I was just resting my eyes for a moment, that's all," he protested, blinking. Spike was across the room chatting easily with Willow, whose expression still held irritating elements of wonder.  
  
"Well, there's somebody coming over I want you to meet, so perk up," she said, adding, with heartless pragmatism, "Want some coffee? You look like you could use it."  
  
"Someone coming over? I thought this was a family gathering, so to speak," he replied, surreptitiously wiping drool from the corner of his mouth and sitting up straight.  
  
"Well, it is—the family got a little bigger while you were gone, that's all." She shook his knee. "Hurry up, she'll be here any minute."  
  
She? Who could Buffy mean? Surely not that Doris Kroger person from Social Services; as he recalled, neither Buffy nor Dawn had cared for the woman much. He glanced up at Spike, who had risen and was looking toward the hallway with eager anticipation. In fact, surprisingly, all of the young people had risen.  
  
The doorbell rang.  
  
TBC  
  
- - - -  
  
MY soul goes clad in gorgeous things,  
Scarlet and gold and blue.  
And at her shoulder sudden wings  
Like long flames flicker through.  
  
And she is swallow-fleet, and free  
From mortal bonds and bars.  
She laughs, because eternity  
Blossoms for her with stars!  
  
O folk who scorn my stiff gray gown,  
My dull and foolish face,  
Can ye not see my soul flash down,  
A singing flame through space?  
  
And folk, whose earth-stained looks I hate,  
Why may I not divine  
Your souls, that must be passionate,  
Shining and swift, as mine?  
  
Harriet Monroe 


	25. Outlets of the Sky

Title: SAMARITAN  
Author: Ivytree  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy,  
etc. Except Mrs. C, Eddie, Zevra, Grak, Garg, and the rest of the  
demon gang...  
Feedback: Please!  
Summary: Sequel to Grandpa; A soul takes Spike places no one  
expected him to go.  
Setting: The Samaritan-verse branched off from the end of BtVS season 6 and AtS season 3.  
A/N: The End.

SAMARITAN Pt. 25 Outlets of the Sky

- - - - - - - -

When the bell rang, Buffy flung the door open, smiling broadly. "Hey! Come on in! We're so glad you're here!"

Wobbling into the hall, Giles was amazed to see two ruby-eyed, astonishingly wrinkled demons standing in the doorway, accompanied by a curly haired, rather timid looking human girl. And instead of hanging back, Buffy, Dawn, Anya, Spike, and Xander crowded around the visitors uttering cries of welcome. To Giles' surprise, the shorter of the two, who wore sensible shoes, a lavender twinset, and big hoop earrings, enfolded first Buffy and then Xander in an embrace. The taller one, in a rather handsome glen plaid suit, gave Giles an affable smile, revealing a fang or two.

Buffy darted to Giles' side and tugged on his arm. "Come on, I want you to meet our friend Clem…"

The demon extended a taloned hand, his red eyes friendly. "Clement. Hi, Mr. Giles! Gosh, this is really an honor."

Giles took his hand and shook it firmly. There was such a thing as good manners. "How do you do?"

"And that's my mom, and this is Sophie—c'mere, sweetie..."

Sliding her arm through his, the dark girl nodded shyly. A couple, apparently. Giles suppressed a smile as he imagined Quentin Travers' head exploding.

"How was your trip over from England?" Clem asked, interrupting this pleasant reverie.

"Long, but uneventful," Giles replied.

"Isn't that parched air on planes just the worst? It dries my skin right out," Clem confided. "I always take plenty of water bottles, but it's never enough."

Eying the sociable demon's remarkable display of flaps and wrinkles, Giles took himself firmly in hand. "I can imagine that might be a problem," he said with sincerity.

"Hey, what an enticing aroma!" Xander exclaimed as Clem's mother handed him a large, foil-covered dish. "Is this chow I smell before me, Mrs. C?"

"Plenty for everybody!" she promised, in strongly accented English. "Take to kitchen, Xander; Buffy, dear, I knew you'd be too busy to cook, so I bring little something for dinner…"

"Wow, thanks!" Buffy said. "It does smell good …um, I'm sorry; I don't have any wine, or anything. I hope it goes with tropical fruit punch!"

"Doesn't everything?" Xander said simply.

- - - -

Feeling oddly disoriented—that would be the jet lag, probably—Giles bobbed along behind like a cork on the tide as the others swept into the kitchen. He watched dumbly as they all stood chatting in inconveniently placed groups, sipping brightly-colored beverages, Willow-Clem-Spike, Anya-Xander-Dawn, as Buffy, Sophie, and the motherly demon (whose name he hadn't caught) bustled about, putting the casserole in the oven to reheat and setting the table for an impromptu meal.

By the time they all moved to the dining room, Giles found the scene quite surreal. This room had been the scene of innumerable councils of war, each more desperate than the last, as well as the comfortable, restorative meals over which Joyce had presided in earlier days. Now, somehow, the arrival of these friendly demons had produced a rather more "normal" atmosphere than he was used to finding in Buffy's chaotic twenty-something household. In fact, it was quite familial. Xander teased the girls without bias just like an older brother, including Sophie, who giggled helplessly, and traded sports yarns with Clem. Even Spike, bizarrely helpful, busied himself with arranging the seating in what seemed almost a parody of Victorian etiquette (though he seemed perfectly serious).

"Here, Rupes, you be dad, then, and sit at the head of the table, with our hostess (and Domestic Goddess) — " (here he blew a kiss to Buffy, who actually appeared to blush) "—on your right, and Magda, the guest of honor, sits at the foot…"

Magda?

When all the food and drink was set out, and everyone took their seats, Spike, settled between Buffy and Dawn, raised his glass (which was not, in fact, filled with fruit punch, but something amber-colored) in a toast.

"To our formerly absent friends," he said, with a wink at Willow. "Wasn't the same without you!"

"Yeah, we sure could have used your witchy ways, Will," Xander added.

"And we learned one thing—we SO suck at research, Giles; I bet you would have spotted that thrall thingy right away," Buffy put in.

"Not to mention the chimera," Spike added.

"My dear, you've all done splendidly; I'm very proud indeed." He found himself meeting the eyes of Clem's mother, who gave him a smile he found strangely encouraging.

"I am absolutely starving to death," Xander announced. "So what's for dinner, Mrs. C?"

"Is everybody's favorite," the lady demon said, smiling. "Tuna casserole!"

"With the crunchy crushed potato crisps on top? Lovely!" Spike said.

"And peas! And cream of mushroom soup! It's a Caprescu specialty!" Clem declared happily, passing his plate.

Suddenly Giles was wide-awake and stone cold sober.

Magda Caprescu?

THE Magda Caprescu?

Giles felt as though someone had tossed a bucket of cold water over his head. His fingers trembled slightly as he set down his glass. Could it be the same Magda Caprescu? But it must be.

Really, this was intolerable. Nobody told him anything anymore. He'd revered this particular white sorceress for years, since the earliest days of his training—her scholarship and originality were legendary. And here were these children talking to the great lady as if she were a favorite aunt. He only hoped they'd shown her proper respect. What would she think if they hadn't? After all, he was responsible for their behavior in a sense.

He looked across the table and her ruby eyes met his.

Giles' heart sank. She knew. She knew he'd recognized her, that he was what one could only call a 'fan,' and that he'd been foolishly and rather meanly worrying about social niceties. She knew everything.

And she smiled at Giles again.

A knot of tension just behind his diaphragm, a knot he'd been doing his best to ignore for countless years, suddenly loosened. Giles caught his breath.

How long had he been living his life stretched to the limits of endurance? How many years had he spent knowing that, each day, he would inevitably step into the lair of the enemy?

But now—Giles was almost afraid to think of the difference an ally like Magda Caprescu might make in the great fight he'd been born to.

Now they might win.

- - - - - - - -

Spike had to admit he was a bit knackered, though the evening had gone off well, all things considered. He let his head fall back against the slats of the Adirondack chair set out in Buffy's back garden and stretched his legs out before him. Extending his senses, he detected both Dawn's shallow, sleep-slow breathing and Giles's weary snores inside the dark house. A mild breeze rustled the leaves of Joyce's rosebushes, wafting a faint, sweet scent in his direction. Silent stars glittered overhead as an owl wheeled and banked, intent on its nightly search for unwary rodents, air whuffling through its soft feathers.

Spike sighed, and tried not to think about just how good a ciggie would taste right now. Not that he was backsliding. He didn't want to disappoint his girls, Buffy, and Dawn, and Mrs. C. Anyway, he had to set an example for poor Wills, didn't he? Show her it could be done, resisting things.

But still, he was fondly imagining dragon-like plumes of smoke streaming from his nostrils, when he felt rather than heard Buffy come up behind him in the darkness. Without a word, she climbed onto his lap and slid an arm around his neck, and he automatically drew her slender frame close.

"Now it's my turn," she murmured, her lips against his ear. "Alone at last!"

She settled her head in the hollow of his shoulder, and relaxed against his chest. The warmth of her body seemed to wash through him.

"Tired, love?" he murmured.

She shook her head. "I was just wishing I could see what Willow sees," she said. "But at least I can feel it…"

For a few moments they sat quietly together, letting the pressures of the past few weeks (or was it months—or years?) drain away.

Then, all of a sudden, Spike felt Buffy's back muscles tense beneath his fingers, just as a faint sound met his super-sensitive ear. In silence, she raised her head and looked at him enquiringly. He gave a brief nod, and then they both heard it again—a crackling of underbrush toward the back of the garden.

"Why do they always go for Mom's rosebushes?" Buffy whispered.

Spike rolled to the right and Buffy to the left, and they shot toward the bushes. The snapping of branches and twigs was louder now, and Spike heard harsh panting. He made a dive into the shrubbery and emerged clutching a skinny neck that was all too familiar.

"Chalky!" he snapped, hurling his catch to the ground. "What the bloody hell d'you think you're playing at, lurking about in this neighborhood?"

"Don't kill me, Spike! Please don't kill me!" Chalky literally groveled at their feet.

"Who would bother to kill you?" Spike said, eyeing him with distaste.

"You know him?" Arms folded, Buffy contemplated Chalky, who looked even more unsavory than usual. His white hair clung damply to his cheeks, and grime smeared his face and pale tattooed arms. His black eyes darted back and forth between them. "What's he, some kind of squirmy white maggot demon?"

"Not exactly a 'he,'" Spike replied. "More like an 'it.'"

"Hey!" Chalky protested. "There's no need for that kind of talk, okay?"

"You traitorous, lying weasel, you ratted us out to the Doctor, didn't you?" Spike snarled. "I'll do more than talk; I am going to kick your scrawny, albino arse from here to the sewer you came from!"

Chalky scrabbled backward. "I couldn't help it, Spike, honest! They made me tell 'em!"

Spike advanced. "You made a cozy little deal for yourself, you mean. Too bad we took her down before you got your payoff. How much was it?"

"Well, that's sorta why I'm here…" Chalky jumped as another, much louder, crash sounded from the next back yard.

"What the bloody hell is that?" Spike seized Chalky by one bony shoulder. "Who followed you here?"

"You gotta help me, Spike! It's Roger!"

Buffy quirked an eyebrow.

"Roger the Troll," Spike explained, dropping Chalky ungently. "Bookie, usurer, and general miscreant. Large-ish bloke, violent, on the rough-trade side. None too clean, either."

"See, I owed him the money, and I was gonna get it from the Doc, right? So he gave me an extra 24 hours. But my time's up and the Doc's dead and now he's gonna tear my head off and stuff it down my windpipe. And that's a direct quote."

"So let me get this straight." Spike rubbed the bridge of his nose and then stared down at Chalky, fists on his hips. "You want US to help YOU because your scheme to double-cross us didn't come off—that your argument, Sunny Jim?"

"Yeah!" Chalky exclaimed, pleased at his rapid comprehension. "See, if you guys hadn't, like, slain the Doc, ol' Rog wouldn't want to kill me now, see what I mean?"

"Right," Spike agreed with dangerous affability. "Of course, if we hadn't slain the Doc, we'd be FRELLING DEAD!"

"Actually, as I understand it, I'd be legs," Buffy put in.

Chalky's face fell. "Well, if you want to get technical…" Then he brightened. "But anyways, you ain't dead—or legs! An' Spike's all good and stuff now, and s'posed to fight the forces of evil, okay? And Roger is evil—you gotta admit that! An' I brought him right to you!"

"Doing us a bloody favor, in fact!" Spike paused to glare at Buffy, who was fighting a losing battle with giggles. "Oh, very humorous, I'm sure, Slayer! Thing is, you haven't met Roger…"

"She will in a minute," Chalky interjected helpfully.

"Shut up, you!" Spike aimed a half-hearted kick in Chalky's direction.

"Oh, lighten up, Spike!" Buffy was openly grinning now. "How bad can he—

A guttural roar struck their eardrums, shaking the ground beneath their feet, and Roger the Troll hove into view, crashing through Buffy's neighbor's frequently repaired fence. He was certainly huge, with a mane of rough hair reminiscent of nothing so much as buffalo hide, blunt features, and small, piggy eyes. A waft of air from his direction suggested that he smelled like a buffalo, too. Or possibly a yak. Spike had always wondered how a creature so dim made a living as a bookie, but maybe he was an idiot savant, or something. Still, constantly slaughtering your clients couldn't be that good for business.

"Hey! Let's keep it down, big guy! People are trying to sleep!" Buffy snapped, hands on hips.

Roger's great head swung in her direction; he growled, and sniffed the air. Then he spotted Chalky.

"You!" he snarled. "Now I crush you! Now you die!"

Squealing, Chalky fell to the ground and covered his head with skinny, pallid arms. "Spike, Spike!" he moaned, "Don't let him get me!"

Spike felt a tingle of anticipation. Maybe he wasn't quite as knackered as he first thought. Besides, seeing even a jackass like Chalky forced to beg made his hands close involuntarily into fists.

"Hold it right there, buster!" Buffy's eyes flashed. "Nobody crushes anybody in my yard!"

Roger's smile was unpleasant, not least because this sudden expressiveness revealed yellow incisors, broken tooth stumps, and what looked very much like misshapen tusks sprouting from his lower jaw.

"Okay," he rumbled, a gleam in his eye revealing a certain amount of brutish cunning. "Roger make deal with Slayer—Slayer says no crush here, Roger no crush."

One hopeful black eye peeped out from between Chalky's quivering fingers.

Then Roger's great, hairy arm shot downward, and Chalky's throat was seized in a pulverizing grip.

"Roger take loser away—crush later!" Laughing, he shook the terror-paralyzed Chalky like a terrier shakes a rat.

Spike glanced at Buffy. She stood coolly surveying the spectacle, arms folded. Well, it wasn't fair to involve her, was it? Not her fight, really. The slayer's job was protecting humans, not random guttersnipe demons. Hell, it wasn't even HIS fight, when he thought about it; it wasn't as though Chalky was worth saving. Roger might be evil, but his offer was fair enough, by his lights. If Spike had any brains, he'd wash his hands of the whole thing, and he and Buffy could pick up where they'd left off, which was far more interesting, anyway.

Trouble was, he just couldn't do it.

"Tell you what, Rog," he drawled casually, "why don't we take this back to Demontown, and discuss it like gentlemen? No need to involve ladies…"

All at once, he was pulled aside by a sharp tug that nearly knocked him off his feet.

"Spike! What are you doing?" Buffy hissed in his ear. "Aren't you going to teach him a lesson?"

"Well, yeah," he whispered uncertainly, "but that doesn't mean you need to…"

"Listen, Spike." Her warm fingers curled around his arm. "From now on, we're in this together, remember?"

Spike looked at Roger, chortling with cruel glee at the thought of tearing his victim limb from limb; he looked at Chalky's tallow-white face, twisted in agony. He felt Buffy's eyes on him, green-gold and glowing like starlight. He would happily drown in those eyes, and the wonder of what he saw there. Commitment, love, and…faith. Fireworks exploded in his heart.

But there was no time for that. They had an evil (and, by now, puzzled and rather bored) troll to defeat. Together.

"Ready, Spike?" Smiling, Buffy held out her hand.

For a few moments, everything seemed suspended. Was he ready?

Spike took the slayer's hand in his. This was it, then; he was one of the good guys now.

"Ready, Buffy!"

END

- - - -

GIVE all to love;  
Obey thy heart;  
Friends, kindred, days,  
Estate, good fame,  
Plans, credit, and the Muse—  
Nothing refuse.

'Tis a brave master;  
Let it have scope:  
Follow it utterly,  
Hope beyond hope:  
High and more high  
It dives into noon,  
With wing unspent,  
Untold intent;  
But it is a god,  
Knows its own path,  
And the outlets of the sky.

It was never for the mean;  
It requireth courage stout,  
Souls above doubt,  
Valour unbending:  
Such 'twill reward;—  
They shall return  
More than they were,  
And ever ascending.

Ralph Waldo Emerson


End file.
